The Case of the Resurrected Flatmate
by Bartimus Crotchety
Summary: Watson has been murdered. It is the greatest mystery in Sherlock Holmes's illustrious career, and one with the highest stakes. To solve this crime, he will need every resource at hand including Doctor Watson himself...but is the Doctor just out for blood?
1. Chapter 1

My crazy muse came back from Honduras where he went to get his nasty cigars "from the source" with this nutty idea.

It is the first thing I original I have been able to write in weeks. I hope it is enjoyable.

At least I hope it is worth have to watch his vacation slides trying not to claw out my eyes...seriously a nude beach? URGHHHH!

**::UPDATE:: **Because of the many excited replies and to keep my muse away from the projector...SIGH!...I have turned this into a longer work so enjoy!

**Bart**

All characters not belonging to Arthur Conan Doyle probably belong to Bram Stoker...enjoy!

* * *

**The Case of the Resurrected Flatmate**

_Proper decorum, yes that is what this is concerning._

_ Even under extreme circumstances such as the ones in which we have been living in these last years that is the one constant that must be maintained at all times. Otherwise we cease being men and give over to the animal nature that seeks to overrule our manners._

_ That struggle is great within you my friend, and I fear someday it may leave you all together, if that day comes, I will honour the vow, and I will follow through like I promised._

_ However, I will live in hope that the day Sherlock Holmes has to kill his dearest friend will not fall within my lifetime, let someone else years from now fulfil that promise, because I honestly don't know if this head can overrule my heart in this instance._

_ You have not lost the battle against the feral predator nature just yet, I am happy to say, this evening was proof of that._

---

The scuffle was pitched, and it was hard to keep his concentration where it needed to be. Lestrade was struggling with a man far larger than him over to the right and Watson was under a pile of muscle to left, Holmes was finishing up dispatching the man who had the temerity to draw a knife on him with a nasty left cross.

"Lestrade do you need assistance?" Holmes called looking around for a new combatant.

"Mind yerself, I've got this sorted," Lestrade called, even though it looked like false bravado at the moment.

Holmes moved to assist, just as Lestrade, who looked on the verge of being overpowered and throttled, caught the man with a rather unsportsmanlike knee to the groin, and then smashed the man's bent over head with the remains of a chair leg.

"That was not very gentlemanlike, Lestrade," Holmes chided.

"You've accused me of many things over the years, but being a gentleman has never been one of your insults," Lestrade replied between pants trying to catch his breath.

Lestrade pointed over the mass of grunting bodies where their friend was still dealing with his assailants. "Why don't you see if Watson needs aid?"

Holmes shrugged and pulled out a pipe, lighting it with practiced ease as a full grown ruffian flew through the air past them and smashed into the wall. "Because, dear Lestrade, Watson has not needed physical assistance for some time now."

"Watson, cease toying with those men so I can arrest them and be done with my night!" Lestrade demanded with a note of irritation.

Watson was holding one man off the floor with casual ease while a larger man had an arm around his throat from behind and another man was trying to trip him up. He sighed at the bother of it all and used the man he had held in the air to knock the man holding his legs off and then tossed the man on his back on top of the other two. "There," he said as he wiped his hands, "satisfied?"

Before Lestrade could comment the tip of Watson's own sword cane burst through his chest from behind. They all had a moment were time slowed down staring at the bloody blade in shock.

"Ow...I liked this coat," Watson complained.

The man who had snuck up behind him and struck the blow looked stricken at his lack of incapacitation.

"That was a lethal blow, automatic hanging, so this man's life is forfeit, what say you?" Watson remarked casually as he pulled the sword cane from his back and dropped it to the floor with a clunk then turned and grabbed his cowering impaler.

Holmes blew out a plume of smoke in a manner that betrayed his boredom, "I concur."

"Just get it over with," Lestrade informed with a wave.

Fangs showed under his thick moustache as Watson smiled and in a flash buried his teeth into the man's neck bearing him to the floor, soon the would be killer's heels were drumming on the floorboards as his hands spasmed while Watson stayed fastened to his neck.

"That's the third one this month, are you sure he's not turning?' Lestrade murmured to Holmes as he lit up a cigarette.

Holmes shrugged. "I am fairly confident that he can hear you Lestrade."

Lestrade shrugged. "He knows the laws that govern his continued existence; he would be the first to tell you the question is fair, need I remind of the vow he made us..."

"You remind me of nothing, Lestrade, you know my memory," Holmes informed him archly.

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Are you quite done, Watson?"

Watson stayed at the neck but held up a finger back to Lestrade to give him a moment.

"How long does it take to drain a man?" Lestrade complained.

"On Watson's behalf he was a rather large bloke," Holmes informed with a smirk.

"I hate that gurgling noise," Lestrade grumbled.

Holmes blew a smoke ring before remarking, "I have never had my life's blood sucked out through two holes in my jugular mind you, but I don't think it would give me cause to hum Mendelssohn."

He was rewarded with one of Lestrade's textbook glowers.

Watson drew back with a gasp of breath. "That hit the spot," he remarked with a contented sigh.

He turned to the other two men. "To enter my own opinion to the conversation in progress, I am not turning; I will swear to any oath you wish to put to me."

Lestrade grimaced. "That statement might be more apt to be believed if your moustached was not currently dripping with your...ummm...repast."

Watson looked positively appalled when he realized that he did indeed have blood in his moustache, he made his way over to what appeared to be a basin and began to clean it fastidiously.

"You could just shave the damned thing and be done with it," Holmes called in a teasing tone.

Lestrade and he exchanged a look before Lestrade added, "why not go clean shaven, you are the only parasite I've seen with facial hair, that has to be an affectation of the recently dead."

Watson shot them a glare his eyes glinting red. "We've had this particular discussion, and the term is Vampyre."

Lestrade and Holmes mocked being frightened. "And so we have," Holmes remarked with a grin.

"I should drain you both and be done with it," Watson grumbled.

Lestrade and Holmes laughed at that. "Come on, dear boy, let's have cocktails at Simpsons to celebrate, I think they can make you a Bloody Mary."

Watson smirked. "This is Thursday, so it's a Bloody Susan."

Lestrade looked sick. "I'll pass."

He blew his whistle and the constables that had been awaiting such a signal came pouring in. "We've got six to arrest and one snack," he called to the Sergeant in charge, he nodded and tipped his hat nervously as he passed Watson.

Watson's eyes showed a flash of pain at the sidelong glances he was receiving.

He retrieved his cane trying to not startle anyone and sheathed it still covered in his own blood.

"I've got to go change, I'll see you there, I feel like a bit of a fly," Watson murmured as he passed then and headed out.

Lestrade sighed. "I know he wishes he could go back to human, but he really is doing a lot of good in his current state."

"He is practicing as a doctor again, has a midnight clinic for Vampyres who need medical care, but he used to enjoy the sunlight so much I know it pains him," Holmes mused.

"Remember what Van Helsing said," Lestrade said cautiously, knowing that he was treading on a touchy subject.

Holmes gave him the glower he deserved. "He still wears a silver crucifix, he could not do that if he were completely soulless, he is the most obstinately stubborn man I have met if anyone can remain a man he can."

"And if he does go over, how will you know?" Lestrade pressed not liking his role.

Holmes glowered at him then pulled a silver chain out from behind his cravat dangling his own piece of jewellery.

Lestrade nodded his eyes grave. "I pray to the good Lord that you'll never see it light."

"So do I, Lestrade," Holmes replied with a weary resignation, "so do I."

---

_I believe in you, my friend, I still trust you at my back, and I know that you rely on that belief to bolster your own._

_ I find it amusing that we see each other now as much or more than before you stopped to help Lucy Westenra that fateful night, with my habits I'm am nearly a Vampyre myself, minus the monotonous diet of course._

_ I was told by Van Helsing something I have never related to Lestrade, or to you that for that matter. He said that he had never met anyone who was able to fight against the dark cravings for longer than a few short months, and he was certain that I would be staking you before the year ends. _

_That conversation took place three years ago now, and you still kiss your Saint Christopher before you head out at night without it burning your lips._

_ In a world in which nightmare boggles have stepped into the gaslight announcing their existence to the world, in a time of miracles there is still one that trumps them all in my mind._

_ Your heart, dear Watson, I cannot trust the creature you've become entirely, but your will is something upon which I will bet my life without hesitation._

_I feel a need to record the events of that dark time here for posterity's sake, so if in some future moment you choose to remember me by my words you will have this reminder of those first days...how I had to bury the best friend I've ever known...and how I got him back._

**Sherlock Holmes  
**

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The people have spoken, I am working on the next chapter now.

**Bart**


	2. Chapter 2

Well it seems I was successful in one regard. My muse has put the vacation slides away and gone to work in a happy thick cloud of nasty cigar fumes. It appears that we are in for a ride folks, not sure were this is headed. All I know is that this is a crossover between Bram Stoker's work of note and my Police Surgeon Watson, that combination is either alchemical wonder...or abject disaster so stay tuned.

I am writing this for the sake of my readers...and for you alone. I am putting every other project on the back burner and riding this out for your sake. You have requested this of me and for the wonderful reviews and kind encouragement I am determined to see this through.

So if this turns out to be brilliant pat yourselves on the back!

Just don't thank my muse...his head is so swelled he's going to need a bigger cowboy hat!

**BTW:** These are Bram and Conan's boys and girls not mine. They are public domain but I choose to give credit where it is due.

**Bart**

* * *

**The Case of the Resurrected Flatmate**

**Chapter Two**

_The entire affair began rather innocuously I suppose with a visit to our rooms by Chief Inspector Giles Lestrade of Scotland Yard._

_I was not very alarmed at your uncharacteristic tardiness until I saw the barely constrained anguish in his eyes._

_I have often admitted to being somewhat inured when it comes to swings of emotion, but my keen eye for detail picked out the scent of the dissection rooms, a mixture of decay and surgical spirit peculiar to those chambers...I used to call it Eue de Morgue for my own amusement...I will never do so again. I also noticed an underlying grief so it was someone with whom the Inspector was well acquainted, but at the same time sympathy was underlying his motion, so it was a person we had in common, my associations are very narrow and there is only one person known to us both._

_I have never wanted to be wrong in my entire existence of days, but in those moments I prayed for a hidden streak of incompetence within my reasoning, alas I was as accurate as always._

_"When was he found?" I found the breath to ask around the constriction of emotional distress that quite frankly I was not prepared for. _

_When my parents shuffled off the mortal coil, it was to be expected, they were elderly and full of years and while dignified in affections, reliant upon one another so much that one death would be the death of both, but to have someone so full of life and years taken, and one who had earned my respect and admiration in spite of my dearth toward attachment, removed forcibly from my orbit, gave me new perspective on the suffering of the families of one murdered. _

_I have shown a far greater sensitivity to their plight since that night._

_It amuses me to see just how that moment affects me still, if my words seem unsteady on the page it is because my hands tremble any time I attempt to reference that hour._

_Lestrade's expression was one of relief that the dire news he carried was already established. "Two hours ago by a constable walking his beat down Tottenham Court found him already cold curled onto his side left in an alleyway."_

_"Like common refuse?" I growled._

_His nod was grave, and his eyes held a fire of rage similar to my own._

_I could barely choke out the words but I managed to inquire. "Cause of death?"_

_"You need to come and determine it for yourself, this has to be seen to be believed..."_

_That was the beginning of the most bizarre span of nights that I will ever experience if I live to see a duration of a hundred..._

~o0o0o0o~

There he was.

Holmes had hoped against hope that it was not Watson on the slab, but the sight of his best and only friend laid out sans clothing under the harsh gaslight.

Lestrade left in silence and gave him the room.

Oh he supposed there were some Yarders who expected him to throw himself across the body crying out in soul splitting anguish, he saw from the determined grief stricken looks in the eyes of those civil servants that the criminal community of the West End was going to have a rather large headache for the duration, they expected outrage, the expectant air almost demanded it. However, all Holmes could feel was...objective.

He noticed there were no cuts on the body, no autopsy entry wounds which would have been automatic at this point; there was a reason for it which he saw almost immediately.

Oh it was Watson. The muscle tone, moustache, pattern of hair on the chest, war wounds were all there, but Holmes knew he would be doing his best friend a disservice by falling into maudlin hair wrenching paroxysms.

He sighed and removed his hat and coat and pulled on a coroner's apron, he reached out a tentative finger and pressed into the flesh of Watson's arm with his fingertip. The flesh was pliable and still supple under his finger.

"What the deuce is going on here, dear boy? You should be in Rigor Mortis by now."

Lestrade slipped back into the room with Doctor Hampton, the Police Surgeon assigned. They stayed in the background as Holmes pulled out a magnifying glass and began a careful study of the body.

"Has he been washed?" Holmes inquired as he reached the neck, trying not to look at the familiar jaw line as well known to him as his own.

"He is as he was when his clothing was first removed," Hampton supplied.

Holmes pursed his lips in annoyance, however, Hampton would have been his choice to perform the examination, the man was sufficiently observant. Lestrade would have known this. It pleased Holmes that Lestrade had assigned his very best.

"Fibres?"

"None, however there was the scent of Rose sachet in his overcoat, something he would have collected from extended close contact, it had a subtlety so I would postulate it was from a woman of wealth," Hampton continued.

Holmes grunted his approval as he stopped at the Jugular.

"Sure it was not a dandy getting too close for liking?" Holmes inquired.

"We would have found two bodies, or at least blood enough for two on his coat," Lestrade remarked with a snort.

Holmes had to smirk at that one, they did know his Boswell. Then he stiffened. "There was not a lot of blood?"

"There was no blood, Mister Holmes," Hampton replied with a tremor in his voice.

Holmes turned on the two men. He restrained himself when he saw Hampton's normally kind hangdog visage was gray, the man was near a faint. Lestrade's lips were a grim line and he was not much better.

"There would have been arterial spray all over the crime scene and his clothing and on his assailant whomever she might be," Holmes quietly insisted, "could he have been killed in the nude, dressed later after death, and dumped where he was found? The man was not a stranger to female attention."

Lestrade rubbed his eyes wearily before answering, "His footprints were at the scene, he was walking by and something made him alter course, we think it may have been a person in distress, possibly someone who looked female and he did not go far from that spot falling nearby, we found a witness who remembers that he tipped his hat to her as he walked past Charring just before, you have my word that we have exhibited the upmost attention to this investigation, Holmes. To us, Watson was a Yarder, we just need a scent and the persons responsible will have a very bad remainder of life, however short."

Holmes nodded, he did not want to pursue this line of questioning but Occam's Razor required it. "Why is he nearly drained of blood but had none on his clothing or at the scene, and after being dead nearly four hours, where are the signs of Rigor?"

He cast a careful eye on his boon companion's husk. "As a matter of fact aside from being so pale there is no necrosis, or decomposition, he looks as if he is about to wake from a peaceful slumber any moment."

"I can draw no conclusions, it runs contrary to everything I have ever been taught about how the world is supposed to work, sir," Hampton interjected wiping a shaky hand over his brow.

"Go, get some tea before you pass out, Lestrade and I need a word," Holmes dismissed the coroner in what he hoped was a kind manner, without the man on the table to handle his interpersonal affairs it was hard for him to determine. Hampton fled without further encouragement.

"What the devil is going on here?" Lestrade demanded.

Holmes sighed at the superstitious aside. "I doubt the diabolic had anything to do with this, I believe there is some sort of chemical that was inserted while his blood was drained, a preservative of some sort with anticoagulant properties, because there is no bruising at the neck were the blood was obvious removed. I fail to see the vein where the other end was inserted to complete the circuit."

Lestrade seemed secretly relieved. "Is such a machine possible?"

Holmes shrugged. "It would have been a pump operated and portable embalming apparatus, I would suggest that Watson's autopsy be delayed until we can determine his rate of deterioration, this state of suspension is quite remarkable, a breakthrough in preservative technology at the very least."

Lestrade seemed appalled. "Need I remind you that the man to whom you are referring is Doctor John Watson! What is the matter with you, man? Have you no heart? He was your dearest..."

"You think that has escaped my notice!" Holmes bellowed as he rounded on the Chief Inspector. "It is all I can do not to run howling into the night on the trail of the person who did this, it is taking every ounce of my not inconsiderable will power to remain dispassionate enough to function, if I lose control now, valuable time will be lost, but I give you my word, Lestrade, I will run them to ground and when that occurs I doubt you will be able to stop my hands from their throats."

"Not if I get to them first," Lestrade responded in a dangerously quiet tone.

There was a deadly purpose in the silence between the two men, a depth of rage that united them this one time in a partnership of a share goal.

Those unknown assailants had taken the best of men out of this world, and for that act of upmost evil, they ensured that they would never see the inside of a court room.

~o0o0o0o~

_The silent pact made between me and Lestrade that night was absolute, in our grief we had thrown off any vestige of right lawful justice, we had become vigilantes and there was only one intent in our hearts._

_ I knew that you would find it disappointing that two of your dearest friends would throw off all restraint on your behalf, but I know you well enough that if it had been my body on that cold metal, Hell itself would have been a more kinder alternative to the vengeance you would have wrought._

_ I made my way home that night, making a detour in the early hours of morning to view where you were found and for once the Yard was thorough in the dispensation of their duty, I found no clue that escaped their notice this one and only time._

_ It was decided that we would allow you to lie in state on a dissection table until we could determine the affects of that chemical on your dead tissue, so I felt that informing Mrs. Hudson could be put off until we released the body to the funeral authorities. I saw in my mind's eye a burial service the likes of which London has not seen outside of a royal personage._

_ However, for that you need a corpse, and by dusk of the next night we lacked that essential component._

_ It appeared that death had not stayed your willful distaste for others planning your day for you._

**Sherlock Holmes**

* * *

I am not sure what this story is going to be exactly. It seems to have elements of mystery, of supernatural...with a dash of DARK humor and irony telling the story of a friendship that superseded death itself...all set in Victorian propriety so not sure where this is headed. This story is also going to pay homage to one of the most amazing works of pastiche fiction ever published. It is called Anno Dracula and if you have not read it you need to find a copy. It was written by Kim Newman and he wrote two sequels one of which I read and it was equally as good.

thanks for reading!

**Bart**


	3. Chapter 3

**The Case of the Resurrected Flatmate**

**Chapter Three**

_How I got through the rest of that night and the following day I really have no recollection. 221b itself became a burden to my fragile countenance._

_You are all over our flat, my dear friend, in every corner, in every nook. To someone with my abilities in observation it was nearly my undoing. From the fastidious way someone had arranged my records alphabetically while I was not around, you might as well left your fingerprints all over that one, to the battered doctor's bag stowed well out of the way with the usual kind consideration that you showed in all your affairs._

_That someone would kill a man who only had others in his heart causes me to clench the writing implement dangerously tight even now._

_You are strong, bedrock and determined underneath, but the characteristic which you show others is your over arching compassion. You just cannot leave anyone in distress; I sometimes believe that you went along with me on my misadventures just because there were lives involved, people who needed help. The mystery and the how and where fore were just secondary questions and minor in your heart after the, what was done to whom and can we prevent or stop it. I think it was that philosophical difference that gave us our biggest separation, and at the same time made you so essential to my work._

_It never escaped my notice that my work began expanding after I brought aboard someone who could soothe and mediate, and show concern for client welfare. People liked you, dear Watson, they just could not help themselves, in spite of my nature, I was one of them from the first._

_In my mind's eye I once again saw that tottering afghan veteran at Stamford's side, the man looked far too thin and frail as if a stiff wind would knock him about, relying too heavily on a cane for my liking and yet when I shook your hand the grasp was firm and unapologetically so. I thought I had your full measure but when I looked into those eyes, ones just a few years older than my own and saw the mixture of anger at your weak body, determination to make your way, curiosity about the chap across, and that one minute glint of the dangerous man you could be when roused...yes I liked you but more than that, you fascinated me. I knew that I had not plumed your depths after all, that you would be worthy of further observation. _

_In all the years since I still have yet to determine your true capacity, I mourned that nearly as much as I mourned the loss of you._

_I handled that day admirably in hind sight. I spent most of it drunk I am sorry to say, rather than putting my mind to the task at hand. Mrs. Hudson accepted the note which I hastily forged in your hand that you were on a trip to the country. I think she knew something was amiss, but she was discreet as always and left me to my devices._

_I was roused from a midday nap on your favourite couch that had stretched into the evening hours by a breathless constable._

_"Sir!"_

_"What is it? I just got to sleep!" I snapped._

_"The body has disappeared!" he replied flinching at my reply._

_He need not have bothered being concerned, my bloodhound instinct took over and I grabbed my hat and coat and nearly left the man behind in my rush to get to Scotland Yard._

_In hindsight...staying home would have been a more productive tact, because that was where you were headed._

~o0o0o0o~**  
**

Holmes arrived back at Baker Street weary to the bone. It had just passed midnight and he was still not sure where the body of his dearest friend lay.

~o0o~

When he got to Scotland Yard he could hear Lestrade bawling constables out before he even got down the stairs to the chambers were the inspectors did their work.

The nervous constable told him that police surgeons had been ducking in at various intervals during the day to view the body and take readings on the rate of decomposition that in the interim someone had draped a cloth over his body to give Watson some modesty while officers stopped in to pay respects. Watson was well known to them, not only for his work with Holmes but had seen to their injuries and those of their family during Holmes's hiatus and had become an honorary member of their numbers in that time. So in a narrow sliver of time around sunset between a visit from a constable just after six, and a Police Surgeon's examination which he noted the time as being 6:30, Watson disappeared.

"Dead people do not just get up and wander off!" Lestrade was bellowing as Holmes arrived.

"I beg your pardon sir," spoke one of the newer constables, a young freckled face Irishman named Ferris, "but sometimes they do."

Lestrade rounded on the boy and closed the distance until the young man was backed up against the desk and spoke inches from his nose. "If I wanted recited superstition, I would have asked the BLOODY GYPSIES!"

"Yes sir," Ferris replied stiffening up and snapping a salute.

"Lestrade," Holmes said with a hand on the Chief Inspector's shoulder, the man was trembling with rage under his hand.

Lestrade shook the tension out of his shoulders and said, "Right, this way, Holmes." He shot the milling men one more venomous look and led Holmes back to the now unoccupied room.

Holmes followed him in. "Did someone process his clothing?"

Lestrade shook his head. "We were going to do that when we performed the autopsy that way we only had one set of paperwork. They disappeared with the body."

"This sounds like a cover up, but how did a body disappear past a group of constables without arousing suspicion?"

Lestrade sat down heavily. "I wish I knew."

Holmes was quiet while his massive brain turned over the permutations. "Could a funeral director have come and taken the body by accident, they would have grabbed the clothing as well to dress the body with; they roll bodies out all the time do they not? It would not have been suspicious."

Lestrade brightened up. "Why Holmes that is brilliant…and obvious…of course we checked that! There were no bodies to pick up, and the bodies that were sent over to the hospital mortuary have been visually verified."

Holmes raised his hands in a conciliatory manner, and they descended back into a pregnant silence.

~o0o~

Holmes paused at the door to his rooms above, it was time to tell Mrs. Hudson, he did not want to break the news to her this late but he wanted to be done with it.

So he gave her door a knock.

A very disgruntled landlady cracked open the door, her iron gray hair was up for the night and she gave him a baleful eye.

"I supposed you want tea too, I declare you and Doctor Watson need to keep better hours, I mean the man is growing so pale these days, I asked him if he was well. but he gave me some rubbish answer about not knowing the answer to that...a doctor of his ability not knowing his condition, he must think me daft!"

She stopped when Holmes's hand reached out for the door post to keep from sliding to the floor in a heap. Shock nearly took his breath.

"Mister Holmes, are you sick too? My God, you look as if you've seen a ghost!"

"I have not, dear lady, but you might have," was all he could say before he turned and rushed up the familiar stairs to their rooms above.

He had another moment of overwhelming disorientation when he saw Watson's body, dressed in a robe and night shirt laid out on his favourite couch, his eyes were shut in repose but he did not appear to be breathing.

"What the deuce is going on here, who would remove a dead body, and place it in my apartments like this, what mental torture are they attempting," he lamented as he settled heavily into a chair and reached for a pipe.

"I have no idea, old boy, but if you would quietly head off to bed, I would be ever so obliged, there's a chap," said the dead body with a familiar look of bother eyes still shut.

Holmes dropped his pipe. "Is this a form of ventriloquism?"

Suddenly Watson's eyes popped open and he turned to Holmes, "what are you babbling about, it's after midnight, and I have had a sorry day, I would appreciate if you'd give me room to sort it."

Holmes's sight began graying around the edges and he was not able to give Watson a warning before he began to fall out of his seat in a dead faint, but Watson somehow made it across the room and caught him before he fell to the floor awkwardly.

"I've got you, Holmes," he murmured, "what has got you so overwrought? Have you eaten today?"

So s_orry for the faint, no food, I've been mourning you all day, no worries, see you when I regain consciousness_, Holmes thought before he let the darkness take him.

~o0o~

Holmes burst back to wakefulness with the sound of the street bell.

He sat up. Watson was still there, seated at his desk in the robe. "Holmes, would you mind getting that, not sure who would be visiting this time of the morning, but they will have to wait a few moments while I finish this account of the strange events of this evening while I can remember them."

Holmes nodded wanting to find some normalcy in this crazy upside down world in which he found himself. Maybe it was Lestrade with a solid explanation. The bell was rung again, he better catch that before Mrs. Hudson, or he would catch the backside of her tongue for sure.

He bounded down the stairs. "One moment," he called.

He opened the door to the foggy night and saw two gentlemen standing on the top step.

One was dark, burly and muscular, his suit was American cut and he had the look of an ex-soldier about him, his moustache had long trailing ends that bracketed his mouth, with a tuft under his bottom lip in a style made famous by the famous frontiersman Buffalo Bill. He had a large knife of the type attributed to Sam Bowie hidden in his coat if Holmes's eyes were not deceiving him. This was a formidable man indeed, and there was something compelling about his stare.

His companion was narrow of frame, moustache far more fastidious, his cut was Saville Row and he was paler, his hands were quick and he offered a card. "Hello Mister Holmes, my name is Jonathan Seward, and this is my associate, Quincy Morris.

The American tipped his flat brimmed tan hat, "Sir."

Holmes accepted the card with a curious glance, he noticed that Seward's hand did not cross the distance which was unusual causing Holmes to have to reach across, and it was a small breach of protocol, which was strange for a man so obviously particular in every other sense.

"We were wondering if we might come in for a little while," he asked kindly as Holmes slipped the card in his coat for safe keeping and study later.

He found himself about to allow them entrance, but he stopped himself. Here were two gentlemen that had arrived with no sound of a carriage, Holmes would have noticed it even nearly insentient, and Morris was not the sort that you would allow into your abode without some guarantee.

"Mister Holmes, the night is a bit damp and chilly, I believe that your rooms above are a more hospitable climate in which to discuss business?" Seward encouraged with a patient tone.

"Let us in," growled Morris.

Holmes came close to stepping aside but something within him felt that would be a very bad thing to do, but he felt a strain when he tried to deny them entrance, he felt like his body was betraying him as he began to turn to the side and invite them to come in.

Suddenly there was a hand moving past his head with what looked like a bright light, Mrs. Hudson nudged Holmes behind her as she stood in front of him within the safety of the doorway holding what appeared in the white glow to be a crucifix lit from within.

"I am the owner of this house, and I deny you entrance you dirty Undead buggers!" she said with an adamant authority.

Holmes saw a red glow light both of the men's eyes, Morris bared teeth that were quite unnervingly long, Seward just smile and tipped his hat, his expression was one of relief and appreciation. With a swiftness that Holmes could not follow they were gone.

Mrs. Hudson slammed the door and turned on Holmes. "I swear, you wake me from my sleep babbling about dear Doctor Watson being a ghost then you nearly invite the bloody Nosferatu in? Get yer head out of yer arse, we'll talk more about this tomorrow, now let me sleep!" she bellowed as she slammed the door to her own apartments behind her.

Holmes stood there in the anteroom staring out into the foggy London night.

"What is going on here?"

~o0o0o0o~

_What indeed?_

_If I had known then the trouble that those men represented, if I had some inkling of the blight they were about visit upon the world...it is a good thing Mrs. Hudson our dear landlady is a more practical creature then I._

_It could have all ended right then and there...and London would have been at the heart of a kingdom that stretched to the ends of the world, one without a foreseeable end...I sometimes shudder at how what turned out to be the world's salvation was nearly destroyed in it's infancy._

_She might not know it, and I will never tell her as such...but the little lady who lives down stairs from us is the true saviour of this world._

_Besides, she would most likely shrug and ask if I wanted scones with clotted._


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the short chapter today. It just felt like it reached the proper length, besides the revelation at the end made a good stopping point.

Thanks for all the reviews...I wouldn't be doing this one without the interest so this is your story.

All characters belong to either Doyle or Stoker I choose to give credit where it is due.

thanks!

**Bart**

* * *

**The Case of the Resurrected Flatmate**

**Chapter Four**

_You were still at your desk when I arrived back at the top of the stairs. The manner in which you were scribbling away was frenzied as if you were driven._

_I was in no shape to carry on a discussion, my entire world had shifted in just those few hours, what were the Nosferatu, what did Constable Ferris say about the dead getting up and walking, why did Lestrade bellow about Gypsies, what did the Romani have to do with anything? _

_The question that over arched all was, how were you alive, dear Watson, by every definition I know you were a dead man the night before, and yet here you were seated at your cherry wood desk as you had been so many times before hard at work._

_We were about to embark upon the most singular murder investigation of my career, yours. I must say a murder investigation abetted by the murdered was a unique experience indeed._

~o0o0o0o~_  
_

Holmes stared at his flatmate, everything empirical told him that he was looking at a dead man, but this was a corpse showing a remarkable amount of animation.

"What was that about?" Watson asked as he turned a page and started anew.

"It was nothing that need concern you, my dear Watson, just some gentlemen I sent away until a more decent hour."

Watson nodded and bent back to his work.

"Holmes you need to have a seat, I can hear your bloody heartbeat across the room," Watson remarked rubbing the side of his cheek with the pen in a heart wrenchingly familiar gesture that Holmes had taken so for granted.

Holmes crossed the distance and poked Watson in the back.

"Holmes! What the devil are you doing?" Watson spun in the seat his eyes flashing with anger.

Holmes walked over to the brandy decanter and poured himself a large glass. "I was trying to ascertain if I had ingested a hallucinogenic substance, what, might I ask, do you recall about your movements last evening?"

Watson seemed to drift off a moment. "I cannot recall much, it is all in a haze."

Holmes drank half the glass and offered his flatmate one.

"Please, Watson, a recounting of your actions may shed some light on this anomaly," Holmes encouraged as Watson accepted the drink, the man sniffed the substance, wrinkled his nose and sat it to the side as he recalled, "I had departed the underground, and decided to walk a bit before I hailed a cab, the night was a bit foggy but mild, I was passing my journey pleasantly enough, when I heard a woman's cry...I turned to give aid...and I cannot recall anything else until I awoke on a slab in the basement of the Yard in an embarrassing disrobed state."

Watson sighed. "I have no idea why I was mistaken for dead; I might have been injected with something to mimic the state, but why would someone do such a thing?"

Holmes decided that it was time for truth. He pulled a chair over to his flatmate. "Watson, you were dead, by any and every definition, a substance that would cause a perceived suspended animation would have worn off after a few hours, and yet you have had men of medical persuasion studying you for the entire day, there was no blood circulation, no heartbeat, even if it were a temporary state you would indeed be brain dead from the lack of oxygen."

Watson scoffed. "That is preposterous! I am clearly alive, a dead man cannot walk about, think for himself, pick up a pen and write, do any of the activities that I have engaged in these last few hours."

Holmes suddenly knew the question he needed to ask. "Watson, have you ever heard of Nosferatu, or the Undead? The visitors that just departed were called that by Mrs. Hudson."

"I fail to find that amusing, Holmes," Watson remarked with a glower.

Holmes sighed. "They could not cross our threshold without permission, they arrived and departed with no sound of conveyance, one of the chaps had rather alarmingly long incisors and their eyes glowed red when Mrs. Hudson held up a crucifix which lit up like a flare the closer it got to them..."

Watson was shaking his head. "I don't want to hear that superstitious nonsense especially from you, I've heard far too much of it lately."

Holmes felt that stirring that he only got when he was on the right scent.

He attempted to keep the excitement out of his voice as he inquired, "Oh? From who?"

Watson shrugged. "We have been getting an influx of anaemia in the charity wards here as of late. I've yet to ascertain a cause, but nurses and other doctors have taken to wearing religious iconography, and there have been reports of patients declared dead seen by those who knew them in life, in some of the poorer areas of London, the streets have become deserted after nightfall, which is not an entirely bad thing mind you, but it's all a lot of rubbish if you ask me."

Holmes sat back in the chair and studied his friend, to the man's snort of disgust. "What are you looking for, dear Holmes, some sign that I am lusting after your blood, that my fangs are slavering to be buried into your jugular?"

Holmes smiled. "Are they?"

Watson got a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he remarked, "If I were to lust after anyone's blood it would be a sweet young lady with a tender neck, not a hard smoking night dwelling man who won't eat a descent meal with any number of substances running through his veins, no telling what mysterious cocktail you've got circulating as we speak."

"Watson, you wound me to the quick," Holmes said with a sniff.

Watson shrugged. "Well, I'll save you as a last resort if that will soothe your ego."

"Splendid, old boy, one is always happy to be such," Holmes rankled with a grin.

"Back at the topic at hand," Watson stated with a roll of his eyes, "this night, I have crossed a threshold that belonged to someone else without needing permission, I feel no overwhelming need to give anyone a dreadful neck wound...as of yet mind you, and there is the matter of this," he finished while fishing something out of his nightshirt collar.

He held it glittering in the light.

It was a twinkling silver Saint Christopher's medal. "It belonged to Mary, I keep it close to my heart, I have been told by my superstitious co-workers that any item that was worn with faith will be proof against the Vampyre, I do not claim any devotion of my own, but the infusion of Mary's belief should make this impossible to wear if I were what you are asking."

Holmes fished out his pipe from his pocket and struck a match with a thumbnail to light it, suddenly Watson flinched, his foot shot out and with a nudge the chair slid nearly across the room on the floor boards.

Holmes doused the match with a quick wave of his hand. Watson looked deeply embarrassed as he stated, "Alright then, there may be some credence to this diagnosis."

Holmes glanced down at the marks on the floor that led to where his chair now rested, calculating the amount of strength that shove would have taken. "Indeed."

Watson crossed his arms, nonplussed. "So where do we begin?"

Holmes reached into his pocket and pulled out the card he had secreted from the visitors earlier. "I think we might begin with Jonathan Seward, he made a point to give me this card, I think they meant to retrieve it afterward, whatever dastardly action they had planned before Mrs. Hudson ended their task prematurely.

"Never mess with a Scotch landlady," Watson remarked fondly.

"Yes indeed," Holmes agreed, "however, I got the idea that the man in question was relieved, as if he was sent to perform a task he felt odious, so that means this group we are opposing is running at cross purposes at the very least."

"It also means we have a friend in their camp if your assumption is correct, and that these men were foot soldiers of some stripe with a general elsewhere," Watson finished, his eyes alight with purpose.

Holmes nodded. "This card shows that our Mister Seward is actually a doctor of psychology, and psychiatry, and that he operates out of a sanatorium in Horsham just off the Carfax."

"Holmes, if we are truly dealing with the Undead, then this will spread like a plague, unless we find the source and stop it," Watson reminded him, "if the proliferation of anaemia along my route is any indication, the disease is spreading up from the lower classes, it is only a matter of time before it crosses into Westminster."

"Worse," Holmes remarked carefully lighting his pipe, "if it spreads into Whitehall, we could be looking at a puppet government, what are the vulnerabilities, Watson, and why do you lack some of them?"

Watson crossed his arms, fingering Mary's medal. "I have no idea Holmes, the legends state that the Nosferatu rises after three days with a taste for blood, that they are little more than predators with human skin on, cannot tolerate sunlight, religious iconography backed by faith, cannot cross thresholds without the owner's permission, must sleep on their native soil, are extremely strong and from some sources, shape shift and fly."

"I can see that you have a sensitivity to fire, so we must add that to the list, however, the fact that you rose after less than twenty-four hours, and seem to have immunity to some of their vulnerabilities mark you as something...other," Holmes remarked with a few puffs of his pipe. He flipped the card over and checked the back; there was a hastily written scribble.

"I think I know who might know some of these answers," Holmes said with a victorious smile.

"Well spit it out man, this cat who ate the canary act grows tedious," Watson complained.

Holmes leaned back in his chair. "I propose we head over to this Sanatorium and visit a patient by the name of...

Abraham Van Helsing."

~o0o0o0o~

_These three years later, I must say in hindsight that when I started this journey to end the Undead threat, I had a deep and abiding fear that at its conclusion I would have to kill you as well._

_The possibility was there. _

_When you know the source of a plague, the zero patient as it were, you must take steps to isolate or eliminate that person to make sure that the epidemic does not spread all over again. You carried that source within you, Abraham said as much._

_ However, he was a zealot, a true believer, and he could only see one solution, as is the common modus among extremist, he had never encountered anyone like you before, my friend._

_ I think you quite unnerved him._

* * *

**Next Up...** Van Helsing meets Sherlock Holmes...and the one Vampire he never saw coming!

**Bart**


	5. Chapter 5

Where have the updates been? You updated this fiction four times within a matter of days and now its been four days?

The answer to that question is contained in a tiny little virus which has made my life misery for nearly a week now...and the little bugger is not done with me yet it seems.

I have been gratified at the attention this story seems to have garnered, nearly unprecedented for a Holmes fiction...at least one of mine that is...and I assure you this will come out somewhere so please bear with me for the duration.

thanks for reading as always.

**Bart**

* * *

**The Case of the Resurrected Flatmate**

**Chapter Five**

_There are many advantages to the state in which you find yourself. The nearly imperviousness to harm being only one among many, but I shall never forget the look on your face once you realized that glaring vulnerability which was to be your permanent state._

_To never see the sun directly, or feel it's warmth on your skin, to delight in the colours that the overarching light brings to the world, out of all the enemies you have faced before and since, the loss of daylight has been the one detriment that has driven you closest to despair._

_Rarely have I seen you so despondent, and the melancholy has not left you entirely since, though you are far too strong a man to give in to it._

_For stealing that from you...I would kill the whole nest of them a hundred times over again._

~o0o0o0o~_**  
**_

After Watson hastily dressed, they grabbed coats and hats and had nearly made the street when Watson called out. "Holmes...I think you will have to proceed alone for the time being."

Holmes glanced at his partner and saw the man looking ill.

"What is the matter, besides the entire Undead thing that is?" he inquired.

Watson gave him the glare he deserved then said, "I feel the dawn approaching, Holmes, call it new born instinct, but I fear that I should not venture out with it so close."

Holmes shrugged. "You have immunity to the other vulnerabilities, why not daylight as well?"

Watson shook his head adamantly. "Just like the match, I know without experiment that I cannot, you must take my word."

Holmes sighed. "I trust your word, Watson, but it does leave me without someone to back my play, this card could be a trap skilfully laid, I've no way to know that this Van Helsing is not the general behind the infestation."

Watson sunk down onto the steps his eyes filled with pain. "I know, Holmes, if I could but go with you, I would, but I am new to this state and I have no way of knowing just what the sun will do to me, if it incapacitates me for a period of time I will be of no consequence at all."

Holmes nodded, as he considered. "If this is vulnerability for you then it must be for the other Nosferatu, moving about during daylight hours may be our greatest advantage, I am loathe leaving you behind, but I fear I must."

"I fear it as well, dear Holmes, and you have my apologies," Watson replied.

There was a ringing of the street bell the next moment, the two men exchanged a glance, both thinking it could be their visitors returned.

"It's too close to dawn, if I fear it then I doubt they would be cavalier," Watson mused.

Holmes nodded and went to the door.

Without preamble, Lestrade came bursting through. "Holmes I cannot rest until the good doctor's body is found, I have thought of a few more possibilities...oh hello Doctor...I propose..."

He glanced back at the man on the stairs, in his overwrought stressed and weary condition it did not take long for the man to faint dead away into Holmes's arms.

Watson arched a wry eyebrow. "I have never made this many people faint in my life, not even females when I was at my best."

"You are the strong one now, will you cease your preening and grab the Chief Inspector, we need to get him up stairs, there's a chap," he replied with gritted teeth supporting the spare man's dead weight.

Watson smirked and lofted the policeman with ridiculous ease and started up the stairs with him. "In the matter of who was the stronger, I dare say that I held that distinction before present circumstances.

They made the landing and Watson gently lowered the older man onto the couch closest the grate, letting the obviously chilled man feel the warmth.

Watson worked to loosen Lestrade's collar and rolled up the man's cuff to check his pulse. "I never knew he held me in such high regard."

"Do cease with your false modesty, dear Watson, most who know you hold you in high regard," Holmes replied with a sigh.

Watson gave his flatmate confused eyes. "There is a certain geniality that I cultivate to accomplish my aims but this level of devotion is quite unexpected, I am no person who requires this of my acquaintances and friends."

"Which is why you receive it without hesitation, you dunce," Holmes replied rolling his eyes at the man's density.

Lestrade's eyes fluttered as he regained consciousness.

His barely focusing eyes found Watson giving him an amiable smile.

"Is this...the afterlife?" he stammered.

"Yes, dear Lestrade, and the Devil looks just like Watson," Holmes called.

"If you are here, then Heaven ceases to be a possibility," Lestrade shot back as he sat up, holding his head in his hands.

"I saw you, dead, I have no doubts about your state," Lestrade managed to say to Watson touching the man cautiously on the shoulder.

Watson shrugged. "It appears that death is not as permanent as it was formerly."

Lestrade flinched. "I've heard the stories, and some of my constables have sworn by them, I've had trouble keeping johnnies on the Shoreditch beat for a month now, I thought it was all superstitious nonsense."

Holmes was growing bored with the conversation, "It would appear not, so shall we proceed with full knowledge that yes there are such things as Nosferatu, and be done with this tedium?"

"You may be able to assimilate that your dear friend is now a bloodsucking Undead fiend rather easily, but for me it takes a period of adjustment," Lestrade grumbled.

Watson tsked. "I have yet to suck anyone's blood, and I am most certainly not a fiend."

Lestrade winced. "Sorry doctor."

Watson shrugged.

Holmes hastily filled the Chief Inspector in on the events of the night.

"We have a lead on someone who might be able to tell us more about Watson's condition, and what we are facing, but alas he is down in Horsham, and Watson cannot venture out this close to dawn, so fancy a trip, Lestrade?" Holmes inquired with impatience tinting is voice.

Lestrade set about buttoning his collar and cuff. "May as well, I doubt I will garner much sleep today.

Watson's face took on a mournful cast. "I will catch up as soon as the sun sets again, you have my word."

Holmes nodded as if that conclusion was foregone.

Before they could depart Mrs. Hudson made the top of the stairs. "I thought I heard you lot stirring about, you may need coffee before you go."

She gave Watson a good once over with a baleful eye. "Since you are obviously now Undead, doctor, we may need to alter the rental agreement somewhat, I believe the root cellar will do for today, we can make adjustments to your quarters later."

Holmes gave the lady a considering look. "You appear to be very well informed, and somewhat resigned to the present situation."

Mrs. Hudson shook her head in disgust. "You've always had this arrogance about you, like you know everything that is anything to know about this world, it is nice to see you get your comeuppance," she said with a bit of a smile, "come along doctor, you don't want to be near those big windows when dawn hits."

Watson gave them a shrug and Holmes a little smirk and followed the little landlady down.

Lestrade and Holmes exchanged a stunned look and partook of the coffee.

~o0o0o0o~

They made their way to the train station for the trip southeast.

"I perceive we have a tail," Holmes remarked covering his mouth by lighting his pipe.

Lestrade yawned then remarked, "Not very skilled at his job is he?"

Holmes bought two tickets for Horsham, as he and the Inspector made their way to the carriage he murmured. "There are three out there paying far too much attention to our destination."

"We must be on the right track then," Lestrade replied with a nod, "they must fear something you know, to be keeping an eye on you so closely."

~o0o0o~

The trip took nearly half an hour, during which both men took the opportunity to nap, awakened by the jolt of the car as the train braked for the station.

They departed and made their way to the five road intersection at the heart of Horsham.

The Sanatorium was everything one would expect of such a place, with a cheery grounds and seeming devotion to furthering mental health, but glimpses of hollowed eyed residents who looked far from their right mind.

The gates that gave them entrance were guarded and the sensation that they were being watched was not a pleasant one. Holmes had a feeling that Abraham Van Helsing was not going to be a man with freedom of movement.

They were greeted with a sunny smile as soon as they entered the large foyer, the man was short clean shaven with blond hair and neatly dressed but his eyes held a disquieting light, the hand he offered was neat and manicured.

"Hello there, welcome to Carfax Sanatorium, I am Doctor Niles Van Landingham, how might I aid you in your inquiries?"

Holmes nudged Lestrade to follow his lead. "I have a family member who has become overwrought over the death of his wife, so much so he can no longer operate independently, we are looking for a discreet place in which to place him until he is more himself, and you were spoken highly of according to our subtle inquiries."

Van Landingham's eyes did not warm, but he nodded toward Lestrade, "and this is?"

"A business partner, who wishes to be involved in the dispensation, we do not desire to give names at this time until we feel satisfied that this is the appropriate sanctuary," Holmes supplied. Lestrade played his part by nodding a greeting.

"Of course," the doctor said with a half bow, "right this way to my office, I will be happy to answer any questions you may have."

As they followed the man down the hallway, Holmes decided to see how complicit the young doctor was. "I was hoping to converse with Doctor Seward himself, if that would be possible."

The young man did not even break stride as he responded, "Doctor Seward is conducting sleep studies and is at present keeping night time hours, I hope you will find me a sufficient replacement."

"I'll bet," Lestrade murmured.

Holmes nudged him in the back then replied, "Of course, I'm sure you'll suffice."

They were led into a nice neat study, with its walls of medical texts, and framed degrees, plus a prototypical chase for a reclining patient, it was just what one would expect of a doctor's office, over in the corner was a contraption that aroused Holmes's interest.

"Is that a phonograph for dictation?" he inquired his tone belying his excitement.

Van Landingham glanced over. "Oh yes, it belongs to Doctor Seward, I'm afraid I stick to good old pen and paper myself. Anyone care for tea?"

Holmes nodded and Lestrade followed his lead.

As soon as the young man left Holmes rushed over to what looked to be cabinet for patient files.

Lestrade stationed himself at the door to watch for the returning doctor while Holmes riffled with the speed that only one of his intelligence could manage.

There is no Van Helsing, but there is a file for an older man named Hauser here, he is listed as suffering from delusions of the vampiric nature, and has been prescribed restraints because of outbursts of violence, there are orders for no one to have contact with him outside of the Doctoral staff," Holmes stated after a few quiet moments.

"Here he comes," Lestrade replied.

Van Landingham came back in with an elaborate tea set, his eyes immediately shifted to the file cabinet which had been set perfectly to right by Holmes, but confirmed a suspicion that Holmes held about the man's awareness of their real identity.

"I would not touch the tea," Holmes warned Lestrade.

Van Landingham actually seemed pleased at the caution. "Very good, Mister Holmes, you reputation precedes you, but I assure you, there is nothing to fear from me. I am working with Doctor Jonathan Seward, who is at this moment mankind's best hope against extinction."

"How can I be sure?" Holmes insisted pointedly ignoring the tea.

"Because you know only part of what you are facing, there is a man who is under heavy guard in this very building who holds the key to the knowledge vital to your success or failure, he is kept under heavy sedation so the only way to question him is to take him from this place, to do that you have to trust me, because the persons you are facing have eyes everywhere," said the young doctor with a smile.

"So how do we get Van Helsing, or as he is known in your records, Mister Randolph Hauser, free?" Holmes inquired enjoying the look of shock on the young man's face.

Van Landingham shook his head. "At present I have no ideas, that is why you were led here."

Lestrade, who was watching the exchange quietly suddenly contributed, "I know a way."

Holmes sighed. "What is this brilliant idea, Lestrade, every man has to have at least one in his lifetime, you may be due."

"There is still the unsolved murder of Doctor John Watson to solve, since this man obviously has information pertaining, and also since I know the Chief Inspector of the local force, and he owes me a favour, I can take Van Helsing out of here back to London for questioning, and unless they want to face the wrath of the constabulary there is little they could do to prevent it," Lestrade said with a flourish.

Holmes tried not to show his surprise at the feasibility of that suggestion, but Lestrade's contented smirk revealed his satisfaction.

The young doctor nodded. "They are not ready to fight against the establishment as if yet, so they will have to comply, however, the fact you know about Van Helsing will give Doctor Seward away, unless I play the part of traitor which means I will have to go with you, I'll say it is to monitor my patients well being, but the suspicion will fall on me..

Holmes gave the young man serious eyes. "You are aware that these persons are extraordinarily dangerous, and that your life may indeed be forfeit?"

"My life is already forfeit if I do nothing, the only difference is if I die now as a man, or later as cattle, or worse," came the very serious reply.

Lestrade stood. "This may take the better part of the day, so we'd better get the wheels rolling."

"Before night fall or all will be in vain," Van Landingham agreed

~o0o0o0o~

The action they had contemplated took far longer than was comfortable, the local constabulary was not as cooperative as Lestrade had thought they would be, there were several telegrams exchanged with London, and finally a writ from the high court itself was acquired but hours were lost, then when Holmes and Lestrade arrived with sufficient manpower to enforce the edict there were several delays at the Sanatorium, all that time the light passed from morning to noon to after and the sun made its way inexorably around until they finally made it to the train station with an near unconscious older man supported between them, with an extremely nervous Van Landingham in tow.

The young doctor settled his charge into the seat beside him with the gentleness of a concerned caregiver, all he received for his efforts was a murmured grunt.

They had placed Van Helsing into some rather tattered travelling clothes, he was retrieved from a sad state indeed in the dark depths of that gaol nearly insentient, the door to his chamber was bolted and there was a large man who had to be ordered out of the way at the door. It seemed a lot of precaution was taken to see that this man never saw the light of day again, Holmes was comforted by that.

He was an indeterminate age, even for someone of Holmes's skill, the bushy overgrown hair was silver with streaks of black, the thick beard covered his cheeks and chin and his heavily medicated state made it difficult to judge, but there was anger in those hazy unfocused blue eyes that seemed to indicate that he was on some lever aware of his state.

"Why do they fear him so much?" Lestrade inquired, showing he had made a similar observation.

Niles glanced at Van Helsing before answering. "All I know is that Seward brought him in on another matter from Amsterdam, the man was Jonathan's mentor and the Nosferatu are very careful with him. Our actions will have been noticed, and immediate reprisals are forthcoming, we need to be on sacred ground by nightfall, preferably an old church."

"We have a few hours yet," Lestrade said in the way of consolation.

Suddenly the train came grinding to a halt.

The conductor was making his way back quietly informing passengers of a delay.

Holmes gave Lestrade a baleful eye. "You were saying?"

* * *

**Note:** If it is suddenly harder for you to tell when scenes change it is because for some reason Fanfiction has removed all barriers from their fics, all separators are gone, I've tried html and everything I can think of to create negative space to show a change of scene or seperation but it removes everything but text after I save or update, I have no way of knowing how to get around this and all of my other fics have been affected. I like this website but man do they steam my veggies sometimes!

grrrrrr!

Rant over see you next chapter!

**Bart**


	6. Chapter 6

Still at work on this fic, the illness has passed but I had to make up for lost wages so it's been a busy week.

I have some surprises in store which I came up with during this interim so I think it has been a good thing.

stay tuned!

Doyle and Stoker, all appropriate credit is due.

**Bart**

* * *

**The Case of the Resurrected Flatmate**

**Chapter Six**

_In my experience I have never felt the terror again that I felt that day trapped on that train between Horsham and London...there was something about that descending sun that denoted ominous deeds to come, the dying light painting the countryside in burnt umber and sienna as the carriage jerked and the journey began again over an hour later. I never did discover what caused the delay, by that time I was beyond being concerned._

_Lestrade had sent a telegram to Scotland Yard for an armed escort, but if the mesmeric abilities of those two gentlemen had nearly overwhelmed a mind such as mine, the mere constabulary would not stand a chance._

_I had but one chance, luckily I sent a telegram of my own, I was hoping for a more fitting back up to arrive on time._

_I have to say what transpired next has haunted my dreams from time to time...but it is not the other vanpyres that come to me out of the fog, it is you dear Boswell._

_If I did not have unshakable faith in you I would drive a stake through your heart today...because if you ever do go bad, dear Watson...such a thought should not be spoken aloud..._**  
**

~o0o0o0o~

Van Landingham was terrified, he sat huddled in the corner with his eyes on his pocket watch, Lestrade kept assuring Holmes that his best men would be there, no vampire would dare interfere with Yard business.

Holmes kept his own council and watched the nearly comatose Van Helsing contemplating the puzzle the man represented. Here was an individual world renown for his scholarship and yet he was an individual with callused hands and with a deep abiding superstition that caused him to hunt creatures who were myths, and fairy tales. The fact that Vampyres turned out to be factual still did not lessen the dichotomy represented.

Holmes knew in the back of his mind that there would be trouble coming to them with the nightfall, trouble that Van Helsing could arm them against, but he was not capable of anything at the moment and Holmes was worried that all of the drugs that had been administered might have done permanent damage.

There was another concern.

Since they kept Van Helsing rather than kill him, there must have been a use they were keeping him for, there was also the matter of the fact they did not turn him which seemed to indicate that they feared him as a vampire, something about a man's character and determination must affect the sort of Undead they turn into, if so then why choose Watson?

Out of all of the people in London to turn...Watson was the last that Holmes would have picked if he wanted a vampire that could be controlled.

Was that Seward's plan as well?

He was beginning to understand that Jonathan Seward was a strategist to sham Machiavelli himself, and as such Holmes found himself admiring the vampire, and distrusting him all the more.

The sun disappeared as they neared the outskirts of London, Van Landingham let out a whimper. "They'll know I betrayed them, my life is forfeit for sure."

"Stay close, we'll protect you to the best of our ability," Holmes said with an encouraging tone, "do either of you have a cross or some sort of religious iconography?"

Lestrade held out a crucifix, but Van Landingham shook his head. Holmes sighed; for once in his life he regretted his agnosticism.

The train pulled into the station, Lestrade sighed in relief when he saw a group of constables standing at attention awaiting their party, and the men were armed and looked serious about the duty.

Holmes felt a sense of hope that maybe the Yarders would be enough.

There was a fog that had rolled in with the dusk wrapping the platform, and that was not a pleasing sight as they disembarked, there were very few fellow passengers who faded into the fog. The first sign that something was amiss was when Holmes glanced to his side for Van Landingham and found the man missing.

He and Lestrade were supporting Van Helsing between them, so Lestrade did not notice the reduction in their numbers.

"We need to depart and get on holy ground as soon as possible," Holmes insisted, however as they began to move the constables raised weapons.

"You need to stay right there sir," said the older man on the end.

"What is the meaning of this outrage?" Lestrade bellowed.

Holmes noticed the glazed eyes that were staring back. "I don't think they are in charge at the moment, Lestrade," he murmured.

"Very good, Mister Holmes," said a familiar voice out of the fog, strolling into the gaslight was Jonathan Seward in a suit and topper with Quincy Morris in his American style clothing, they had several rough looking men arrayed behind them who did not look enthralled like the Yarders were, but were heavily armed and on board with the proceedings.

There was a hierarchy in place here, these were willing servants which was another piece of the puzzle that Holmes was assembling in his head.

"You have no alternatives at the moment, you are surrounded, these weak willed men will do what I tell them and remember what I place in their minds, Van Helsing comes with us, and you will be bait for your friend, our leader has plans for him."

Holmes glanced at the servants beyond the vampires and noticed there were two less in the back than there were a moment ago.

"What could she possibly want with Watson," he called attempting to stall, a swirl of fog and another two men disappeared with no sound.

"No one here has referenced a she," Morris called, his voice thick with threat.

Holmes let out a laugh as two more men disappeared into the fog.

"Holmes," Lestrade murmured in his most strident tone, "let's not taunt the vicious blood sucking denizens of the night, please."

Seward's eyes narrowed and spun so fast that Holmes's eyes could not follow and saw the empty fog swirled platform behind them.

He turned back to Holmes, "You have made a grave error in judgement, Mister Holmes, your newborn friend cannot possibly withstand Quincy, and by involving him you have led him right into our grasp."

"I may at present be "in your grasp," said Watson's voice from the mist, it cleared and showed him further down the platform wearing his suit and overcoat, bowler on head, he unsheathed his sword in a sliding metal sound that caused the hair on Holmes's neck to prickle, "whether or not you can hold onto what you have "grasped" is another matter indeed."

Seward sounded bored when he said, "Quincy, disabuse him of his erroneous notions while I kill these two and reclaim Van Helsing, we can end this tonight."

He advanced on the three men while Morris pulled out his Bowie from his sheath and in a long pull and with a flash he crossed to Watson and the metal clanging began in a flash too fast for Holmes to follow.

Lestrade held out the cross and it began to glow, but it amused Seward more than it halted his progress.

"One small cross will not save the three of you, it only works for one and you do not have the faith to extend its reach, so tell me Chief Inspector, who are you going to protect, yourself or one of these two men, try to be brief."

"Asking Lestrade to make a quick decision is not conducive to speeding up the proceedings," Holmes quipped.

Lestrade shot him a glower. "You are making my choice an easy one, Holmes."

Seward smiled and his fangs extended. "I prefer to keep Van Helsing alive, but you, Mister Holmes, have a way of involving yourself that needs to be nullified, we thought that the mystery of your friend's death would remove you from the fray for the time being, but his arising early was unforeseen."

He half turned and called into the swirling melee. "Quincy, quit mucking about and subdue him, he's newly risen and hasn't even had a decent meal yet!"

"Oh very well, time to die Mister Holmes," Seward said with a fang toothed grin as he strolled toward the men.

Suddenly the cross that Lestrade was holding lit up like a star knocking Seward backwards onto the platform knocking his topper off causing him to avert his eyes and hiss more like an animal than a man.

"Hullo there Jonathan, I wish I could say it's a pleasure," said a gravelly voice from between Holmes and Lestrade, a gnarled callused hand had reached up and grabbed the hand Lestrade was using to dangle the cross.

"Quincy," Seward bellowed, the American came stumbling out of the fog his clothing in shambles a cut across his cheek and his eyes haunted.

"He's a lot stronger than I thought," he managed to say.

Suddenly a shard of wood came through his chest from behind, he jerked with the force then his eyes went milky white and he pitched forward.

Watson stood behind him worse for wear; he was wavering on his feet. "I had to break my cane to create that stake," he lamented.

"Be gone, creature of the night," Van Helsing rumbled advancing on Seward pulling Lestrade along with him.

"This does not end here," Seward said with finality, and then with a flash he faded into the darkness leaving his top hat behind.

Watson made his way to the small group as the Yard officers began to blink and stir.

Van Helsing held up the cross as Watson approached. "That is a very nice cross, thank you for the offer, but I find my wife's St. Christopher suffices," Watson remarked as he made his way by the stunned older man.

"Lestrade, you might ask your officers to detain those men I disabled, they should be fine, they're just a little weak from blood loss," Watson remarked with a smile of embarrassment that showed his blood stained fangs a little more than he probably intended.

"Right away," Lestrade murmured as he slipped past to give the orders. Watson flinched at the fear he saw in the man's eyes.

"How recently have you arisen," Van Helsing demanded.

Watson sighed, "This is my just my second night.

Van Helsing shook his head and studied Watson like a specimen under a magnifying lens to the newborn vampire's amusement.

"What is Seward playing at?" Watson asked Holmes who had wandered over to pick up Seward's discarded Topper.

He brushed it off and studied the inside for a moment.

"I thought he was supposed to be working on our behalf?" Watson insisted.

Holmes glanced up from his scrutiny. He unceremoniously ripped the lining right out of the hat and pulled out what looked to be a band of wax emulsion. "If I can find a phonograph, I think Seward himself will tell us.

* * *

I have decided to expand this universe to include some other authors. So if you see some Stevenson or Shelley that is entirely intentional. I am off this week so I hope to kick my lazy muses butt enough to get a few more chapters out.

thanks for your patience and patronage!

**Bart**


	7. Chapter 7

This chapter kept growing and growing until I had to break it up from it's original intent. I hope it's worth the wait.

You might notice that Van Helsing and Holmes are not friends...Van Helsing is a learned man who believes in Vampires, and someone who might even Holmes's intellectual equal...nope warm and snuggly is not going to happen.

I hope this marks a good enough interim we will get to Seward's plan next chapter I promise.

**Bart**

* * *

**The Case of the Resurrected Flatmate**

**Chapter Seven**

_I cannot recall all of the events of that night. They are a blur in the corridors of my memory. However, the contents of that wax cylinder are as clear to me as if it were running on the phonograph as I write,_

_I thought I had some notion of Seward, of what the vampire was capable of, the scope of his mechanizations but as it happened, any notion I might have had fell woefully short._

_As it happened, your singular condition was the result of a pooling of scientific thought that bordered on the outlandish, I've heard it said that significantly advanced science to the primitive mind is magic...I would not have thought myself primitive...but those were magical days indeed._

_I learned and expanded my understanding of what was possible, and picked up a few new nightmares along the way..._

~o0o0o0o~

Lestrade sent the confused Yarders away with the anaemic henchmen, assuring the dazed policemen that they had been party to an assault, and that Watson's death had been an elaborate ruse. Despite Lestrade's assertions, the Yarders all viewed Watson with deep consternation, and the corpse on the ground also received a wide berth. Van Helsing was added to the list of persons of dubious nature when he insisted on decapitating Quincy Morris's body, and then said last rights over the remains.

"Be at peace, dear Quincy, may your spirit be free to reside in heavenly realms as your courage deserves," Van Helsing murmured with a weary sigh as he shut the eyes of the disembodied head.

In the silence that followed, Holmes glanced around trying to detect some sign of Van Landingham, Holmes hoped the young doctor had somehow slipped away, but his trained eyes saw that the young man's boot prints had suddenly ended at the edge of the platform.

Watson watched Van Helsing with Morris, he was fingering his medal through the fabric of his shirt. "If I ever go to the bad like Morris," he murmured sidling up to Holmes, "I insist you end me, Holmes, you must give me your word or I declare I will walk into the first sunrise I encounter."

Holmes glowered at his flatmate. "Do not ask this of me."

"I have no one else to ask," Watson reminded him, his eyes haunted.

Lestrade overheard the conversation and saw Holmes's reluctance so he decided to add, "Holmes if he goes the way of Morris, he won't be Watson anymore, it would be a kindness."

"The Inspector is correct, Mister Holmes, of course if your Undead companion did not at this time present such a departure from everything I have ever believed, I would stake him right here," Van Helsing rumbled as he settled a sheet over Morris and stood to face them.

"His name is Doctor John Watson, Watson to you," Holmes responded with a furious step toward the older man, "and you sir will not lay a hand on him..."

Watson held out a hand and stopped Holmes. "He is right, Holmes, I don't know what I am, or even if I want to continue in this state, or if I should."

Van Helsing studied the new vampire with a careful eye. "If you are lying, I cannot tell."

Watson shrugged. "I have nothing but truth in me to give."

Lestrade studied the swirling ebon night beyond the gas lamps and their feeble light. "I believe we were headed for sacred ground, preferably before the Nosferatu decide to come back with a more formidable force?"

Van Helsing straightened his shoulders. "Any ground can be deemed sacred, I know the sacrament required."

Holmes held up the wax tube, "I suggest 221 Baker be our next stop, I can play this recording there, and I believe Mrs. Hudson is already erected defences to repel the Undead, Lestrade, I suggest you come along, you have been seen in our company and I fear that has made you a target as well."

Lestrade sighed wearily and stepped off to oversee the transport of Morris's body and ordered a Yard conveyance for his use.

They made their way through the night; Watson sitting up with the driver his bare sword across his knees, the passenger's eyes swept the nearly deserted streets. "I don't understand what is occurring, for some reason, this city is cowering, we should be picking our way through crowds by this time of night," Holmes commented.

"This is how all cities and villages are after dusk in Romania," Van Helsing commented with a smirk at the naiveté displayed by Holmes, which caused the detective to glare at the man in irritation.

"This city is much more enlightened and boasts the foremost in sophistication and scientific thought of any metropolis in the world," he grumbled.

"And yet here we are fighting what you thought were fairy tale bogeys, trying to thwart a scheme which has undoubtedly caught the mighty Sherlock Holmes completely unaware. If they had not turned your good friend into whatever he is, then you would have continued on blissfully unaware until it was far too late, so much for this "enlightenment" of which you claim," Van Helsing replied with a snort of derision.

Holmes silently bristled as Lestrade attempted unsuccessfully to cover a smile; a chuckle floated down from the pilot seat of the carriage showing that Watson's hearing must have been augmented as well.

They arrived at their familiar lodgings, and Lestrade sent the officer driving away telling the man to find cover before the hour was out, he was given confused eyes but the man drove off to follow his strange orders.

"Mister Holmes, thank God!" said a voice from their left, Van Landingham looking worse for the wear slipped out of the alleyway, his furtive eyes wide with fear. "I pray your forgiveness for leaving your company abruptly, but I felt I would fare better on my own."

He had almost made it to them when Holmes shoved Van Helsing behind him grabbing the cross that Lestrade still had about his neck and dragging it and Lestrade into the front to the diminutive man's exasperation, "Step no further."

As the cross lit up as Van Helsing let out a gasp of pain. "Niles, poor Niles, you were a good man."

The seemingly bewildered young doctor suddenly glared at them with sullen red eyes, a low growl emanating.

"The only way that creature could have taken Niles's form was if the man was dead," Van Helsing informed in a bleak tone.

Van Landingham suddenly faded away and his features became someone else entirely, "I was sent here in case you made it past the train station," stated the vampire with the sharp features and arrogant bearing, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said with a mock half bow.

"I did not make your acquaintance before, and I have no fear of doing so now, however, it might not be advantageous for you. You could ask Quincy Morris about your chances, but that stake through his heart while doing wonders for his disposition, has made him beyond consultation," Watson said in an even, flat tone drawing a line on the cobblestones with the tip of his sword.

To his credit the vampire's eyes flashed with fear. "We will talk again soon enough Professor, right before I rip out your still beating heart for my master."

"Yes, Yes, we will all die slow, now flee like the good little coward you are, there's a chap," Watson replied taking a step in the vampire's direction. There was a swirl of mist and then the vampire was gone.

"How could you tell, Mister Holmes?" Van Helsing replied with curiosity.

"I could mention that unless he had the ability to fly he could not have left that platform as rapidly as he managed unless aided from something above, but the truth is that creature walked across that puddle just over there as he left the alleyway without reflecting or disturbing the water," Holmes replied.

"Blimey, he looked human," Lestrade commented.

"That was the eldest vampire we have met yet, it appears that our problems have spread beyond the original conspiracy," Van Helsing replied.

Van Helsing gave Holmes a considering look. "You may not be as useless in this affair as I first thought, Sherlock."

Holmes glared at the man for the use of his surname, but the elder was unrepentant.

"Well don't just stand on the stoop, get your arses in here before you get drained," Mrs. Hudson called from the door with consternation. She was holding a shot gun with a bag of Rock Salt at her feet.

They shook from their revelry and followed her in.

Van Helsing gave her an approving nod. "Rock Salt, wherever did you come up with that idea," he asked taking off his thread worn hat in a courtly gesture.

To Watson and Holmes's exchanged look of shock, Mrs. Hudson actually giggled in an entirely girlish manner. "Any substance that can be used in purification should work, there was a nest of 'em around me village when I was a lass," she responded with a slight flush.

Van Helsing gently grasped her hand and kissed the back of it in a gentlemanly manner, then inquired, "You're not so far from being a lass now, so you've secured the parameter yourself?" He asked with a smile that softened his features and made him appear years younger.

"O' course," she replied blushing deeper still, "now get on up stairs and wash up, I still have some of me husband's suits in good shape, he was your size if he was an inch," he nodded and they all headed up.

"Did you see what my eyes tell me they spied," Holmes murmured to Watson.

Watson shook his head in wonder. "Mrs. Hudson giggled, if I had not had seen it with my own eyes...I find that occurrence harder to believe then this Vampyre mess."

~o0o0o0o~

They were all settled in while Holmes attempted to affix the band of wax to the phonograph drum.

Van Helsing had cleaned up amazingly well, the suit that Mrs. Hudson had provided turned out to be a very well appointed dark blue with a subtle stripe, and a bright green cravat gave off the right touch of sophistication, with his hair cut and beard trimmed he looked every inch the world renown academic that his reputation portrayed. His quick eyes, scarred knuckles, however bore out a rougher assessment.

He was eyeing Watson curiously over a cigar he was smoking. "So you rose after one night of transformation, you have no weakness for religious iconography not so much as causing one flash, we passed hung garlic near the door and you did not flinch except for the smell, you defeated a very powerful vampire who has already matured in direct combat, and I noticed that you still have a reflection. Doctor Watson, you sir, should not exist," he concluded.

Watson's moustache quirked up at the corner as he replied, "Maybe I don't exist, Professor, it is quite possible that you are still in the sanatorium and having one devil of a delusion, I can only claim that I know I exist, insomuch as anyone actually exists, we all might be a dream in the mind of God."

Van Helsing actually smiled, but he tried to cover it with another puff of his cigar. He finally spoke, "There is no way someone of your caliber should have been turned, someone was fed false information, but it goes beyond that, you have all the earmarks of a Nosferatu Vampyris who is over a thousand years old."

Holmes glanced up glaring at the elder man in exasperation. "While we wait, your time might be better spent giving us the extent of your knowledge about Watson's affliction, and how you reached the state in which we found you."

He was regarded with a dismissive glance. "Very well, Sherlock, it will give you time to figure out that contraption, seeing as it is quite a long tale."

Lestrade snorted. "I do like this bloke."

Watson grinned showing just a hint of fang. "I am quite fond as well."

They were rewarded with a scathing look from the amateur detective before he bent back to his task.

Van Helsing stared into the smoke ring that he just made with all the concentration of a diviner studying the swirling eddies.

"There are some who say that this curse can be traced all the way back to Cain himself, that he was marked by God to wander the earth, immortal and alone, forced to kill anyone who he came into contact with, driven from the sunlight as his parents were forced from the garden, that is why it has the infection of the soul and spirit as well as body," he paused when he heard a scoffing noise of derision from Holmes.

Van Helsing eyed him with open disgust. "If you have something to remark upon, please, by all means enlighten me."

Holmes paused from his labours and gave the elder man a condescending eye. "Neither the soul nor the spirit have been even proven to exist. As it happens, I think that chap Darwin had far more interesting theories about the origins of this world than some mythological garden, and its eponymous fruit. Vampyrism has this element of transformation on a cellular level to another creature entirely, one that is more parasitic, forgive me Watson, but has amazing regenerative capabilities and speed and strength. We will find an entirely scientific reasoning for this in some future time when we have the capacity to study it on a microcellular level. Any other theory is simply poppycock if you will excuse my argot."

"Oh my, how narrow is your mind and how intense is your focus, you are of no use to us in this affair, how about you go down and help the lovely Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen while the rest of us have a chat," Van Helsing remarked with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Holmes lept to his feet bellowing, "Now see here!"

Van Helsing met his vehemence with some of his own. "Persons like you who believe that this world fits into a neat clinical box are as guilty of zealotry as any flagellant, and I have no use for anyone who cannot understand that there are worlds beyond the boundaries of this one, there are levels beneath the fabric and can feel the movement of the unseen universe and all its beauty and complexity. This reality has far more to offer than just mere the concrete and the empirical!"

He advanced on Holmes until they were face to face. "I have seen things Mister Holmes, men dissolving into fog and moving through cracks around doors, wolves that walk upright and wear the tattered clothing of men, spirits of the dead calling to me with sweet siren voices that still haunt my night mares, a city that floats above the world and only appears once every hundred years, I have seen these things with my own eyes, I can fight against the darkness that threatens this world because I believe in the impossible. I will not allow some over wrought book worm with his head in a chemistry set presume to tell me how this world works!"

Watson and Lestrade gaped at the two combatants, not sure what to expect.

"For the duration, for the sake of my dear friend over there, I will suspend my commentary, please continue," Holmes said biting off the words as if he found them bitter.

Van Helsing nodded. "That is all I ask...Sherlock."

Lestrade murmured to Watson, "If it were not improper in so many myriad ways, I would marry that man."

Watson gave the inspector a wry smile as Van Helsing settled in to finish his account while a disgruntled Holmes turned back to his work.

"The Mark of Cain was passed on to his children, Tubalcain and the lot, and has passed down through the ages, somehow surviving the flood of Noah, possibly because Nosferatu Vampyris do not have to breath, there are some accounts that show them surfacing in other cultures and possibly establishing one of their own, keeping humans like cattle, however there were uprisings and that society was destroyed.

Our chapter in this story begins with a monarchy in Wallachia a small nation on the border of Romania, it started with Vlad Tepes II who was awarded the title of Dracul by the church for protecting its borders from the Ottomans and Turks, his son, Vlad Tepes III was even more fierce and his activities more ferocious, so much that he inherited his father's title as Dracula, son of the Dragon. How or when he became what he transformed into is lost in time, his distant cousin Elizabeth Banthory was known to bathe in the blood of maidens to maintain her beauty so it could have entered in the blood line through her, but what is known is his exceedingly cruel nature became turned within his borders once he had no more enemies besetting him from without. He is also known as Vlad the Impaler for the manner in which he dispatched his enemies and his own people alike. They said there were forests of the rotting dead in his kingdom.

Watson and Lestrade winced in empathy; Holmes glanced up with mere interest.

Van Helsing pursed his lips as he neared his own involvement. "Dracula became withdrawn and his kingdom vanished into time, suddenly he took an interest in property in England, a solicitor by the name of Renfield was sent out to the edge of Romania to oversee the project, he came back quite mad, wound up under the care of..."

"Jonathan Seward," Holmes added.

Van Helsing nodded and continued. "The business transaction still needed to be completed so they sent a young man named Jonathan Harker in his place, he had a fiancé by the name of Wilhelmina and he was to be married once he returned. She turned out to be Dracula's true reason for his actions. She resembled his long lost true love exactly, I have seen a painting and the resemblance is far from uncanny, you would not convince anyone that she did not pose for it herself."

Holmes busied himself so as to not show the scowl that crossed his features.

"It was she who drew Dracula to England, and so leaving Jonathan to his feral brides he made his way, decimating the crew of a vessel that carried him, eventually landing off the coast of Whitby where Mina had been staying with a friend, and he took ownership of Whitby Abbey known to some as Carfax Abbey, a vampire stationed in a church, it was an irony that appealed to him I am sure. He set about to claim his beloved, but made a miscalculation."

"Lucy Westerna," Holmes supplied.

Van Helsing glanced at him completely discomfited. "What do you know of her?"

Holmes shrugged as if it were no matter. "The ship to which you are referring is of Russian origin, she was called _The Demeter_ and she foundered off the coast of Whitby, it was notable because every single person aboard, save a large dog which escaped when she made landfall, were dead. It was thought to be a plague ship but certain details contradicted that diagnosis and peaked my interest. I never had time to attend to the mystery before she was hysterically burned at sea, however, near that time a young noblewoman, engaged to the present Lord Godalming, Arthur Holmwood, fell ill of a strange case of anaemia. I was contacted in connection, but despite one of the world's foremost experts on blood disorders, an Abraham Van Helsing's intervention, the young maiden died. However there is an article about a grave robbing incident involving the Holmwood family crypt, around that same time there were incidents of child abduction involving a "bloofer" woman, cockney for beautiful, suddenly the case was dropped. I always had an inkling there was a connection, but alas too nebulous for me to pursue. So I take it Dracula is our villain, and Lucy is somehow his pawn and through her he controlled Seward and Morris, and most likely Holmwood and his position in the House of Nobles?"

Van Helsing who was stunned for most of Holmes's recounting chuckled. "Ah yes, you and Dracula would have gotten on nicely, both of you underestimate the power of the female mind, all three of the men accompanied me to the crypt that night, but we did not find Lucy in that casket, but Dracula himself, a dried empty husk, he had thought to turn her by giving her some of his own blood, and he had come to the tomb to retrieve her letting her once again taste his blood so she would be his body and soul, but in that moment of vulnerability she drained him dry. The three men I was accompanied by were in love with Lucy before she turned, so when she came out of the shadows they were unable to withstand her will and became her thralls, later turned to be her lieutenants. Lucy in a fit of pique thinking that I would be useful later had me restrained and placed me in the Sanatorium, and until Jack began making overtures to me two weeks ago, professing his desire to help mankind before it was too late, I have been under sedation constantly."

He turned to Watson. "Lucy is extraordinarily intelligent and powerful, a true queen of her kind, turning someone with your strength of will and intelligence would not have been a mistake she knowingly made. I propose there is more to your singularity than meets the eye."

Holmes nodded his reluctant agreement. "I concur; shall we allow Seward himself to tell us of his plan?"

With a confident hand he turned the crank on the mechanism until it was rotating then carefully place a needle onto the track.

**_Hello, Professor, Mister Holmes, and if all goes as planned, Doctor Watson as well, I'm sure by now you have guessed that all is not harmony in Queen Lucy's kingdom, and that you have all been manipulated until you reached this point. Why? What am I, Doctor Jonathan Seward, proposing?_**

**_ The proposition is simple, my good men...you are here so you can save the world!_**

~o0o0o0o~

_Save the world...I have to say, dear Watson, I thought at first that Doctor Seward might have been exaggerating; I was sitting there with a possibly mad academic, a barely adequate police inspector, and my newly vampiric friend wondering when the world had gone mad, and suddenly this disembodied voice was telling us that we were about to embark upon a quest with the planet at stake. It was something fantastical straight out of children's literature, or Arthurian legend._

_I dare say that if it had not happened to me...if it had been an account written by someone else what all transpired next...I would have never believed it in a thousand eons. As it is, even with the memories I have, I find that recounting it here still feels like I am writing fiction. However, I have a friend who just this night walked away from a sword impalement frowning over the hole in his jacket...dreams in the mind of God...perhaps, Dear Watson...perhaps! _

* * *

Before I get flogged by cannon nuts from several different universes at once...these are all AU's so if I play fast and loose with the mythology you will have to give me leave...or read something else more cannon compliant. This is hard enough to write as it is without trying to be accurate to every author's universe and I plan on crossing into several.

So I hope you are still enjoying the ride! See ya next chappie!

**Bart**


	8. Chapter 8

Okay this story is officially getting out of hand. My muse has been chuckling evily for a couple of days...suddenly I realized to do what he wants I have to research my little white butt off. So...here I am coughing from all the cigar smoke, glowering at his boots on my desk, trying to reread Dracula, Frankenstein, and the Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde, all the while cursing my muse under my breath. Fortunately, I got him an I-pod so he's too busy listening to old Judy Garland albums to hear my vitriol.

Once again I am only putting myself through this for you guys and because of my nostalgic love of those old Universal monster movies.

All the authors involved own the characters involved and I am not being compensated so no need to hire lawyers.

**Bart**

* * *

**The Case of the Resurrected Flatmate**

**Chapter Eight**

_The contents of that wax impression still feel fantastical to me today, even in hindsight. The idea that there are persons on this humble sod today that are attempting to rewrite the laws of nature itself and throw down the image of God and place man in its place, is a daunting concept indeed._

_A thought even more daunting still...how close they came to succeeding._

~o0o0o0o~

They all sat in rapt attention as the words of Doctor Seward drifted to their ears out of the bell of the gramophone.

**_I know that you are probably thinking that I am exaggerating to ensure your cooperation with my plans, and I assume that only time will prove my words, however, even if I do have more nefarious purposes in mind, the fact remains that the enemy of my enemy is my friend._**

**_ I have not long; this device does not offer time for extended discourse._**

**_ I am sure that Van Helsing has shared his recollections about the nature of vampirism and how we arrived at this current predicament so I will not reinterate or recover ground, but there are some things that he does not know because of his drug induced state these past years._**

**_ Lucy Westerna is something Dracula never anticipated, a creature truly rare among her kind, she is a Queen of the night, a nocturnal monarch, as such she is able to command vampyres centuries her elder and has been gathering to her hand the last of the Nosferatu from the outer reaches of the Earth, this race apart have created kingdoms before...the Aztecs are an example...and once they ruled on this Isle...ask the Romans the real reason for the Hadrian Wall...but not since the Dark Ages have they made a move this dramatic, because not since those evil times has there been an empire that has spanned the globe quite like the one seated in this very city. Vampyres are coming out of the shadows and after Lucy's master plan they will no longer be creatures of legend._**

**_ Mankind is about to move down the food chain._**

**_ I could perceive only one solution; I had to find a way to create the perfect vampyre, to defeat her. One not tainted with the curse of the soul and spirit that afflicts our people. One that would have all our strengths without our weaknesses, and who could stand up to the will of Queen Lucy and strike a blow for the good of mankind but would not be just another despot in waiting._**

**_ To do this I had to first discover the truth about the transformative process, the real differentiation between Nosferatu vampirus and Homo sapiens. I found it was all in the venom. However, my knowledge only extends to psychiatric purposes, so investigating the substance was beyond my skill set.  
_**

**_ There was only one bio-chemist I believed up to the challenge, he came to my attention some years back with a controversial paper on the possibility of creating a schism to separate and repress all darker urges using a chemical suppressant. As it happens that paper was only the beginning of his research and he has progressed significantly from that first premise...but that is not important to our present discussion._**

**_ With Doctor Henry Jekyll's aid I managed to discover an impurity in the vampyre venom, but all attempts at distillation failed until we found a purer source, not from an elder vampyre as we supposed, but from another creature far more singular, as a matter of fact there is only one in existence because his origins were not from the hand of nature._**

**_ Earlier this century a young scientist obsessed with discovering the secret to defeating death itself went further than any man ever has. His methods were so extreme that his family attempted to remove all account of it for the sake of their family name. However, in his own struggle to understand his own nature, Doctor Jekyll came across a private diary that had been smuggled out by unknown hands. The story within was both riveting and disturbing._**

**_ It appears that this man, Victor Frankenstein, in a feat of undeniable genius used unanimated body parts and by means not known to us at present, put together a man, this creature was not of normal size but of colossal proportions. Having run across a vampyre years before in his quest for methods of animating dead tissue, Frankenstein was able to acquire from a source he kept out of his notes, a sample of ancient venom dating back before the time of Christ. Using it in a modified formula and early galvanism techniques by harnessing the lightening itself, he brought his creation to life._**

**_ He found the result disturbing and abandoned it to it's own devices, hating its creator the monster wreaked havoc upon Frankenstein and his loved ones until Frankenstein set out to destroy it and erase it and himself from history, repenting of his hubris._**

**_ We traced Frankenstein's movements using an account found with his papers, letters of a man who was attempting an exploration of the North Pole and became icebound by the name of Captain Robert Walton, forwarded to Frankenstein's next of kin by Walton's sister. He wrote of Frankenstein's last days, of a mad pursuit of his creation across frozen miles, and of his eventual death. He also wrote of the creature itself, nearly eight foot tall, but agile, with an educated manner despite its fearful visage, after his creator's death the monster promised to destroy himself and departed North. Using Walton's detailed accounts and the actual charts used by his ship, we were able to determine the path the creature may have travelled and mounted a mission. Since Vampyres do not feel cold, or grow weary, are able to fly, and since that part of the world stays dark for months of the year, we were able to surmount challenges that normal humans cannot._**

**_ Queen Lucy allowed this because she thought we were searching for a way to eliminate our aversion to sunlight._**

**_ With some luck we were able to find the creature, frozen for nearly eighty years in an ice floe, and we brought him back to England. Extracting the unique fluid from its frozen body and comparing it with vampyre venom we found significant characteristic differences that have deteriorated along with the bloodlines over the centuries. Jekyll isolated the compounds and we tried it on a vampyre volunteer, too concentrated, it caused him to spontaneously combust and we found that the electricity required to fuse the substance with dead tissue for the process of reanimation was too much for a vampyre to handle having some semblance of life already in place._**

**_ A new theory was espoused._**

**_ The regeneration process when a man becomes a vampyre is a complete rewriting of the cellular structure, so we postulated that during those hours the elixir we created would be able to work itself into the structure of the body itself, however we needed the most potent current venom possible to begin the change. In other words we needed Queen Lucy to bite someone._**

**_ The search was on for a candidate._**

**_ I needed to find someone who was irresistible to Lucy, someone she would think innocuous, but would covet nonetheless. We have joked among ourselves, Arthur, Quincy and I, that all three of us together make Lucy's ideal man, which is why she could not choose between us when she was alive. So I looked for a learned man with soldierly aspects that had the air and gentility of a cultured gentleman._**

**_ Jekyll, who is free to move about in daylight did much of the search, he happened upon Doctor Watson by accident._**

**_ He was looking at a newsstand at the Headlines when his eyes feel on the Strand magazine with a newly penned adventure of Sherlock Holmes within its pages._**

**_ Soon it was purchased and he perused the pages thinking that you Mister Holmes would be a candidate but soon realized that Lucy would perceive you as a threat, however, the man at your side was an ex-soldier, a doctor, and from his attitudes a gentleman of breeding. Henry informed me of his findings, and we searched you out Doctor. I took one look at you and knew we had found our man._**

**_ I convinced Lucy that Holmes was a threat to our plans which are coming to fruition shortly, and postulated that tying you up in an investigation of the death of your partner would be prudent. I then showed her a photograph that we stole from your apartments, and when her eyes sparkled in that old girlish way I knew that we had succeeded._**

**_ She insisted on taking you herself, Doctor, and drank your blood down to the last, injected enough venom to turn you, then left you for others to find, I bent down, supposedly to check for any clues as to our identity, and injected the formula myself._**

**_ We waited for some word as to the success or failure of our actions, then one of Lucy's network of thralls sent word that the Doctor's corpse had risen after just one day. It was an unprecedented event to be sure, she sent Quincy and I to investigate and bring you to her, but we were thwarted thankfully._**

**_ So now, while I have just a few minutes left, here is all I can tell you of her plans._**

**_ Arthur Holmwood, the new Lord Godaming and Lucy's consort, has requested an audience with Queen Victoria herself about the plague that is currently affecting London's East End, one that was initiated by us. He is going to present to her a possible solution. It is customary to bring the Lady Godaming with him, ushering the most powerful vampyre currently in existence into the presence of the most powerful monarch this world has known. I will allow you to discuss the possible outcomes, if Lucy is allowed to gain control of the Empire and what that will mean for humanity as vampyre kind takes power._**

**_ What are you capable of, Doctor Watson? Henry and I have only conjecture, but we believe that you will have all the abilities of an elder, and only have sunlight for a weakness, I would visit you and help you test your boundaries but I have to play the role of antagonist to stay within Lucy's purview until I can act on your behalf._**

**_ I only have one suggestion as to unravel this plot. Lucy has been frantically searching in these past years for __Wilhelmina__ Harker, why this is, I know not. She found Jonathan, who killed himself rather than accede to her charms, but Mina disappeared. I have no elucidation as to why this lone woman would trouble her so, but I have a hunch that Dracula spent some time with the young lady, and she might know something that could damage Lucy._**

**_ As it stands the odds against you are long, even with Watson you are playing a desperate game of catch up, and she has cultivated resources all over this city in the interim. She has powerful vampyres at her beck and call, some are even shapeshifters so after dark do not trust your eyes._**

"That information would have been useful earlier," Holmes grumbled.

**G_entleman...Lucy will not stop at England, she has her eye on our western cousins next, with that country and its resources in her grasp there will be no stopping her._**

**_ Good luck._**

"Where did Jeykll learn of that diary?" Holmes mused, "The chances of him running across such an item with the information that he required seems too much a coincidence."

Van Helsing sighed, it was a weary sound and he finally looked his chronological age. "He first viewed the diary as my protégé; it was part of my collection of rarities. In my journey's I have acquired many items of dubious report, and I dare say I have the largest cache of such things in the world. Frankenstein's "golem of flesh" has been of a particular interest, the idea that a man could raise such a creature to life is daunting indeed. We know that we were created in the image of God, but that diary proves that having that aspect of deity inside us might not always be a good thing. Jekyll had an unhealthy obsession with the subject, the diary turned up missing later, I never suspected he would go that far."

"Seward and Jekyll are both former students of yours?" Holmes inquired with a curious brow cocked.

Van Helsing met his gaze with angry eyes. "When it comes to the supernatural, there are very few in the world who hold my expertise, Carnacki is a recluse, and Doctor Hesselius has been missing for sometime. Most other learned men are sceptics and narrow minded fools like you Sherlock."

Holmes gave Van Helsing a genuine smile. "I find that most men are narrow minded, but do not mistake my clarity of focus for such, out of all of the insults you have leveled at me, that one I can not countenance."

The two men nodded at each other as a silent agreement had been passed and a denouement called in the silence.

"Mina Harker, that name seems to indicate that she married Jonathan sometime in that intervening time, last we heard he was held captive by Dracula's brides," Watson mused, changing the subject.

"What could she possibly know?" Lestrade inquired rubbing his tired eyes.

Holmes pulled out a pipe and lit it, cheerfully creating a halo of smoke about his head as he remarked, "Well there is only one sure way to find out...we ask."

~o0o0o0o~

**Even now I see in my mind's eye the image of that lone man many years before painstakingly sewing body parts together as the lightning flashed overhead in my nightmares.**

** I am a creature of intellect yes; experimentation and discovery are my greatest thrills outside of my work. Having a postulate, then finding that the results back it, is an addictive satisfaction. However, as Frankenstein and later as we learned, Henry Jekyll proved, there are places that science should not go, not because of some outmoded form of morality forbids, but because this world is an engine that runs on natural laws...breaking them endangers us all.**

** I do have some gratitude toward those two men, because their efforts ultimately culminated in you, dear Watson, and for giving me my dearest friend back, I do owe them some consideration.**

* * *

Yes I am playing fast and loose with great works of fiction that have withstood the test of time. I feel like Frankenstein already, this critter has gotten away from me...good thing I don't have any relatives named William at the moment...oh wait...I need to make a phone call...oh and that friend of mine named Elizabeth might need a ring as well...do I know any Henry's...

see ya next chapter!

**Bart**


	9. Chapter 9

Okay I'll admit there was several things within this chapter that caused me to giggle like a little girl. I have to hand it to my cigar chomping muse, when he gets in the creative mood and spits out dialogue and situations like I've got here...I actually can tolerate the boots on the desk, the cigar ash everywhere, even the underwear hanging on the...okay maybe not that...

So enjoy this chapter and I hope to see you back for the next installment.

_**Bart**_

* * *

**The Case of the Resurrected Flatmate**

**Chapter Nine**

_The search for Wilhelmina Harker was on. It was a very daunting task indeed, for this lady had managed to somehow elude Lucy and her intimidating net of informants and lackeys for nearly three years, and as I stated earlier, we were new to the hunt._

_Fortunately for Wilhelmina, Lucy did not have me as one of her hounds, as it happens I managed to run her aground in just a day..._

~o0o0o0o~

Watson left to head down to his daylight lodgings looking as dejected as Holmes had ever seen him, Lestrade left soon after the sun's rays broke with his apologies, to check on his wife, he had sent her a telegram the night before to not stay alone, and he was planning to send her to their daughters home in the country.

That left Holmes and Professor Van Helsing to their speculations.

Mrs. Hudson arrived with coffee and a breakfast that far exceeded any Holmes had ever seen her provide before. She gave Holmes innocent eyes as she sat it down, and then gave Van Helsing a flirtatious wink before retiring down the stairs.

They ate their fill, and then agreed to take some rest to recover their faculties, Van Helsing in Watson's former accommodations before he developed that unfortunate daylight allergy, Holmes in his own bed.

Holmes tossed and turned, his restless brain giving him no surcease, there was something stirring in his brain attic that he could not entreat to settle.

He kept hearing Lestrade's voice: "If I wanted recited superstition, I would have asked the BLOODY GYPSIES!"

Gypsies...Romani, indigenous to Romania, which is adjacent to Wallachia and Transylvania...Vlad Tepes III ruled Wallachia and was a vampyre for centuries, a long time not to make an impact on the surrounding peoples...Seward's words came unbidden,_I have no elucidation as to why this lone woman would trouble her so, but I have a hunch that Dracula spent some time with the young lady, and she might know something that could damage Lucy.._Maybe Lucy and her minions made a mistake in looking for Missus Harker among her people and not Dracula's_._..Jonathan was returned to England from the clutches of Dracula's brides somehow for some reason...what if the time that Dracula spent with Mina was more mutual than first believed...she obviously had some sway with the ancient vampyre...some resource upon which she could barter...the Romani are deeply superstitious and very secretive...their loyalties run very deep...if they are protecting someone she would not be found by normal channels because the Gypsies draw no attention to themselves they live on the outskirts of society scavenging what they need asking for no aid...they are self contained...Jonathan killed himself rather than betray her location or her secret...high stakes indeed...

He finally drifted off; the thick black drapes he kept on the windows let only a sliver of light through.

~o0o~

They rose at nearly the same time in the afternoon, Missus Hudson with her usual psychic timing had an early dinner ready or braised lamb and scalloped potatoes, Holmes dearly hoped that Van Helsing would tarry for the improvement in the cuisine but at the same time lamented his resulting waist size. One bite of the lamb, however, caused him to re-evaluate the possible consequence.

"What do you know of the Romani, Sherlock? Van Helsing inquired as he sipped his tea.

Holmes nearly choked on a bite of potato, barely managing to masticate it enough for passage before sputtering, "To what are you referring, be specific?"

Van Helsing shrugged. "I was just inquiring as to the information you possess of the Gypsies, it occurs to me that Dracula would have had contact with his countrymen while he was in England, they are an secretive people, however, there does seem to be references to their servitude to vampyres in years past in tomes I have read."

"They may know where Mina is hidden?" Holmes inquired trying to be as nonchalant as possible so as to not tip off the rather sharp older gentleman that they were on similar paths of thought.

"You guessed as much," Van Helsing replied with a sly grin.

Holmes wiped his mouth carefully as he replied, "The thought had occurred."

"Do you know anyone who can get us an audience with the tribe?" Van Helsing asked his eyes sparkling and intense.

Holmes shrugged. "They are, as you say, very secretive and closed off from outsiders, however I have impersonated a Gypsy effectively in the past, I could go among them in disguise and see if there is talk of a foreign lady amidst their numbers, she would be considered an outsider even after three years."

"You...impersonate a Gypsy?" Van Helsing remarked with a snort of derision.

Holmes shot the man a glare. "I will have you know that I trained under the greatest thespians in England, my make up skills are second to none operating behind the gas lights, I have perfected nearly every dialect and accent spoken in this great city, and can blend with any people group that I have need."

"Including the clergy, where your eminent humility is a great asset," Van Helsing teased.

"Of course...I pride myself on my humility," Holmes replied with a straight face.

They saluted one another with their tea cups.

~o0o~

Lestrade arrived back at Baker Street just before the sun dipped below the horizon to find Van Helsing perusing Sherlock Holmes's records. The diminutive Yarder looked hale and rested, ready for any further action needed.

"Where's Holmes?" he inquired pouring himself a cup of the coffee kept hot on the grate.

"Reconnaissance was the term I believe he used," Van Helsing murmured as he turned the page in the volume of clippings.

"An fancy word he uses to give himself an excuse to play dress up," Watson remarked from within the room causing both men to start.

Van Helsing glared at the new vampyre. "Bear in mind that you are Undead now, dear Doctor and please attempt to make some manner of noise for the sake of the hearts of the living.

Lestrade glanced at Watson warily. "Coffee?" he quipped with a small nervous tick.

Watson grinned enough to show fang, "Not thirsty, just yet, but if you drink enough coffee I'm sure I could get a jolt from your blood."

Lestrade patted the pocket wherein he concealed his pistol, "just reloaded with bullets made from old silverware, so if you don't want to take a melted fork in the gut, I suggest you find your coffee from someone else's neck."

"Careful Lestrade," Watson admonished, "I don't want to tarnish."

"Please, desist the banter," Van Helsing grumbled, "my nerves have not yet recovered from my incarceration, and I am still resisting the urge to hunt you doctor, so I suggest you sit down and be quiet before I find a stake."

Watson suddenly went still in a manner normally not available to those still living, his eyes flashed red in the overhead lights, fangs showing through the moustache as a low growl emanated from his throat better suited to a jungle predator.

"Will you boys cease this foolishness?" remarked Mrs. Hudson as she entered the room with a fresh pot of coffee, "Watson, you are still a man not a beast, so stop flashing fang like a newborn, and Mister Van Helsing you are a guest in my home, I insist you stop provoking my border so you have an excuse to kill him."

She leaned over and plucked something out of Van Helsing's hand that he had hidden at his side, it was the double barrelled shot gun she had been welding the night before.

"Ask before you borrow things, or out you go after twilight, good luck making it the night with your neck intact," she informed as she swept out of the room, patting Watson on the cheek fondly as she passed.

"Yes, mum," Van Helsing called as she gave him a smile.

"You were baiting me," Watson asked in a quiet, dangerous tone after she departed.

The older man gave him an unrepentant shrug. "It's what I do to unholy vermin."

Watson gave the man a sigh of exasperation. "I ask you, Professor Van Helsing, is there anything in your Bible about prejudice?"

Van Helsing bristled. "The Bible only applies to the living; walking corpses need not be concerned.

Watson walked over to his desk, he pulled out a drawer and lifted a book reverently to his chest, he walked over to Van Helsing, and he kissed the cover before handing it to the man.

"That Bible belonged to my beloved Mary, she insisted we be married with it in hand, it was in her family for three generations, it absorbed the faith of many devout and kind persons from her line, and if I were evil I should be bursting into flames at the mere touch of it. You accused my flatmate of narrow mindedness, and "as guilty of zealotry as any flagellant," and yet there you sit, faced with the reality of a vampyre who God has not forsaken, and you cannot bend your thinking to account for it. Hypocrisy does not become a man of your stature."

He met the elder man's blue eyes with determination.

"You are not possible, Doctor, you violate everything I have ever believed about your kind, you are the sole exception to every rule that I have come to believe, so forgive an old man for being set in his ways, however, you are correct and I concede the point," Van Helsing said after a moment of silent combating wills.

"Here," he said offering the Bible back to Watson, "this belongs with you."

Watson accepted it with a nod and went back to his desk to seclude it.

Lestrade had been watching the exchange with interest. "Got that out of your system, have you?"

"He will turn, Lestrade, it is inevitable, but damn him for making me doubt my certainty," Van Helsing remarked eyeing the vampyre with careful scrutiny.

"He does that," Lestrade responded with a wry cocked smile.

There was a sudden jangling noise from the stairs, the two men tensed but Watson with his back still to the room called out, "Hullo, Holmes, I could smell the grease paint from the street, manage to tell any fortunes while you were out?"

The man standing at the top of the stairs shot the vampyre a glare.

"Remarkable, Sherlock, if I had not seen it with my own eyes," Van Helsing exclaimed as he crossed to examine the detective and his disguise.

Lestrade yawned pointedly having seen the act many times before and not wanting to encourage the already sizeable ego.

Holmes's skin was darkened in such a manner that unless someone rubbed the skin they could not tell it was faked, he not only had the tone altered, but expertly shaded so that the cheeks were hollowed out and his entire facial structure looked different, especially the nose which was large and bulbous with the red tint that bespoke of years of hard drinking. The thick drooping moustache beneath was of the horsehair variety but elegantly applied so as to be indistinguishable to a living growth, his jet black hair was tucked under a elaborate kerchief and he had gold jewellery dangling from his right ear, chest and both wrists, rings on hands, a generous open shirt showing the same dark skin with thick chest hair with clothing that looked worn and lived in and far from the costume it should have resembled.

"Good evening, Gentlemen, I am Razim, and I beg your indulgence," he stated with an accent just coloured enough to not be caricature.

"Get on with it, Holmes," Watson said with deep exasperation as he settled into his desk chair with his legs up, looking on with sheer boredom.

"Uncouth cretins," Holmes mumbled in his own voice.

"I know where she is, we need to go there tonight," Holmes said as he began to pull off the jangling loops and the long built up gum nose.

"Why tonight?" Lestrade lamented, "As I recall aren't we under siege from some rather nasty blokes who seem to prefer the dark hours?"

Holmes nodded as he bent to pull off the long boots he had up to his knee, "I'm afraid Mrs. Harker has similar restrictions on her availability as yon Watson there."

Van Helsing sat down in a nearby seat with a shocked expression. "Mina is a vampyre? All is lost."

Holmes shook his head as he removed the moustache. "We don't know until we have heard what she has to relate, the fact remains that Lucy is looking for her, and she is making sure she is not found, that indicates that they are not allies, and as such she can be convinced that we are a resource to deliver her from this forced exile."

"I did like sunlit walks on summer days," Lestrade lamented, "an occasional whiskey or two, what am I going to tell my wife when I have to stay in the cellar rather than share breakfast as I have every year of our marriage. I can see it now, no dear I don't have a taste for eggs, but can I gives your neck a bit of a nibble?"

His eyes found an amused Watson. "Sorry, Doctor."

Watson waved him off.

"Let me change into something more Caucasian, then we shall make our way, my suggestion, see if Mrs. Hudson has some sacred items we can borrow in the interim?" Holmes remarked as he headed to his room to change.

~o0o~

That is how they found themselves little more than two hours later creeping their way through the fog swirling London night. In London's South End, they had back tracked and checked for followers several times which necessitated the slow pace.

"I hear someone behind us, he moves like a cat but his foot falls indicate he is large, he has been following for some time...shall I dissuade him?" Watson inquired in a tone that failed to disguise his eagerness.

They heard a whistle from the fog; it was a discordant tune that Holmes recognized as Debussy.

As the shadows convalesced the truth of Watson's words became apparent.

Whatever it was, it was well dressed, and moved with a simian grace. The arms were immense and the hands far larger than human, the face that sneered at them from under a gargantuan topper was rugged and nearly deformed in its masculinity; he stood at over seven feet if he was an inch. It planted a thick ebony cane with large weighted silver bulb on the end, decorated with a lone H.

"Hello, gentlemen, my name...Edward Hyde, and you...are coming with me."

Watson cleared his throat and he handed Lestrade his jacket, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves as he advanced upon the large creature.

"That, dear sir, is still up for debate."

~o0o0o0o~

_Even with the years cushioning the memory, and the man far gone, that first glimpse of the madness created by one man's misguided avarice for his own nature chills me._

_I saw many nightmarish images in those dark days, not the least you laid out on a slab, however, Edward Hyde's visage comes to me out of the fog sometimes as I traverse this city, I hear those alien lips whistle classical tunes as he looked for a victim to sate his need, and hear the click of that tree trunk cane as it hit the cobblestones._

_To tell the truth, dear Watson, it was not his volatile nature that caused me the most pause, it was the outlandish gentility which he still maintained._

_Hyde represented not only the difference between our darkest animalistic visceral self, and our supposed higher sophistication...but how sometimes those two things walk a lot closer in harmony than any of us want to admit._

_ Yes it is a fair thing to say that Edward Hyde still haunts me._

* * *

Edward Hyde?

Yep...I giggled like a little girl...not ashamed to say it LOL!

**_Bart_**


	10. Chapter 10

**The Case of the Resurrected Flatmate**

**Chapter Ten**

_Sometimes I try to remember who you were before the turn. I try to remember you as you were the first day I met you...broken in body but with an incandescent spirit which intrigued me from that first moment we shook hands. Were you kinder then than now, more of a gentleman? Did you have more patience, a greater mastery of your impulses...it is difficult to recall. I do know that you are a more practical creature now...Edward Hyde learned that lesson in a manner which still makes me flinch._

**~o0o0o0o~**

As Watson strolled toward the colossal monstrous gentleman, he said to Holmes, "Prepare to run."

"Come little vampire, it has been days since I snapped a neck," Hyde growled rolling his shoulders preparing for the fight to come.

"Very well then, Mister Hyde, let's tussle you and I," Watson replied with his purposeful stride increasing.

Hyde reached for him; suddenly, the massive creatures eyes bugged out and he made a squeaking noise that was inappropriate for his build.

Watson's booted foot was buried in his crotch.

"However, I like my neck intact like it is, thank you very much," Watson deadpanned as Hyde collapsed around his damaged genitalia.

"I suggest we be elsewhere by the time he recovers?" Watson called over his shoulder.

"I concur," Lestrade remarked and followed up by tossing Watson his jacket and running in the opposite direction.

Van Helsing and Holmes took one last look at the man shaped beast who was rolling onto all fours and cursing in a higher pitched voice, and followed suit.

Watson caught up to them effortlessly, and when Van Helsing's legs faltered he yanked the gentleman up by the back of his coat and carried him along effortlessly as he sputtered impotently.

"Lestrade is very fleet of foot, I'll hand him," Watson mentioned to Holmes matching his long legged stride carrying Van Helsing without any noticeable strain.

"Running in the opposite direction of danger is a Scotland Yard speciality," Holmes replied between puffs.

"I heard that," Lestrade called back from the next turn.

"I can no longer hear him, Lestrade, you can stop," Watson commented in a casual manner.

Lestrade stopped and leaned over all in for breath clutching his knees. Holmes leaned against a wall as a red-faced Van Helsing was set down; he shrugged his coat back into place shooting the vampire a glare. "My knickers rode up, I'm nearly in as much pain as Hyde," he grumbled.

Watson shrugged and flashed fang in a broad smile. "You are most welcome."

"How...far are...we from...the...Gypsy camp?" Lestrade managed to inquire between pants.

"Closer than you think," said a female voice from the alleyway.

"What fresh hell is this?" Lestrade complained.

She stepped out into the street light and they all stopped breathing...except Watson to whom breathing was voluntary.

She was not beautiful in the strictest sense, her features were too plan and straightforward to grace the canvases of Renoir, however, there was a compelling set to her chin and eyes, and she moved with an unearthly grace.

"I have been waiting for you to come find me," she stated in a matter of fact manner.

"Are you certain you should be out unprotected, Mina? Lucy is still searching for you," Van Helsing said as he approached her.

With no preamble swords appeared from the fog and cross in front of his path, they had curved blades like scimitars but with a notch near the top curving into the tip. The fog faded and two crimson armoured men appeared holding the blades. The armour was an odd overlapping band design with fierce looking spike protrusions, and on their chests carved into the metal itself was an elaborate dragon design, their helms were tight to their heads and aggressively shaped giving an opposing soldier pause just from looks alone.

"Who said that I am unprotected?" Mina remarked with a smile.

Van Helsing backed away. "I stand corrected."

She strode towards them with no fear as from around them silent warriors appeared from out of the fog to surround the small party.

"These are the Carpathian Crimson Guard, the Ottoman's believed them to be demons, they were not far wrong," She remarked as she stopped in front of Van Helsing.

"You've lost weight Abraham, did they mistreat you?" she inquired, her tone sounded sincere.

"I am not aware of how I was treated, they kept me drugged," he replied eyeing the silent warriors with trepidation.

"Probably a wise choice," she replied. She turned to Holmes. "Your reputation is well earned, Mister Holmes, however your Gypsy disguise needs work, the Romanii knew you were an outsider from the moment you spoke."

Holmes bristled. "How, may I ask, did they determine my subterfuge, my accent was perfect."

She laughed. "That is the difficulty, you see the clan always attempt to blend in to the culture in which they are immersed, your accent was too perfect, if you had spoken like a man whose native tongue was Romanian but was attempting to speak English then you would have been fine."

He nodded. "That is good information to have; we are here, however, on a different quest."

"Of course you are," she replied dismissively.

Holmes glanced around at the silent group of attendants, something that had been nagging him clicked into sharp focus. "Lucy is not the Queen, she is the usurper because you are no long Mina Harker are you?"

The intimidating contingent turned and began to move in on the small group. Watson pulled out his spare sword cane and began to pull it free with a bared fang and a low growl, Van Helsing began to pull his cross out while Lestrade sidled up to Holmes.

"The very next time you decide to upset the large group of armoured monsters carrying the swords longer than I am, can I get advanced notice?" he hissed as he reached into his coat for his revolver.

Suddenly, Mina laughed. "Leave them be," she ordered just before things went irretrievably violent.

"Let us step inside here," she ordered as she proceeded to the door of an empty building, with a show of unnatural strength she broke the lock and pushed into the musty darkness within.

Once inside the dusty abandoned parlour room, surrounded by her silent guardians, she settled gracefully onto an upturned crate.

"However did you guess, Mister Holmes, I was under the impression that Lucy was the only one who knows?"

"Seward said that Lucy was looking for Wilhelmina Harker, and he had a hunch that Dracula spent some time with her, that she would know something that threatened Lucy, however the fact that such a powerful vampire was taken by Lucy in the first place seemed to me incongruous, unless he was in a weakened state, in the human world we have ascension by blood line, a crown has not changed hands by force for nearly one hundred years, I believe that someone as old as Dracula would adhere to ancient traditions, so I believe he took a bride and she became his Queen, so Lucy has claimed right of ascension because she took Dracula's blood by force, but if an actual Queen stepped forward then the elder Vampires would follow her," Holmes explained.

"Very good, Mister Holmes," Mina congratulated with a pleased smile.

"Beyond that," Van Helsing spoke up, "you are no longer Mina, but Elspeth d'Mitri, Dracula's original bride, the one he left his self-imposed exile to find, you have her memories and her love for Dracula, and that is why his guard are protecting you."

Holmes let out a scoffing noise, but Mina nodded agreement. "It's called blood memory, when a Vampire shares his essence with another; he also shares the entirety of their life through transmission. It is a very draining process and it made him vulnerable I'm afraid. However, I have her inside me now, and Vlad and I were joined in the way of his people. When Dracula died, my dear sweet Jonathan allowed himself to get captured and disseminated the false information that he and I finally were wed, and then took his own life so they could not tell his deception. His sacrifice has protected me for these years. However, it is time for me to take my proper place as Queen of my kind, Lucy is turning men and women indiscriminately, and abandoning them to their own devices, she must be stopped."

Her eyes found Doctor Watson. "You must be Jack Seward's assassin, you scent like a newborn but you move like an elder, I take it his experiments have been successful?"

"So it would appear," Watson replied with a tip of his hat.

She let out a sigh of frustration. "Everything is in place, if I could just find her hide, while she has been looking for me, I have been searching for her."

Holmes pulled out his pipe, and lit it with a flip of a match, he settled onto a crate across from the erstwhile Queen, puffing while deep in thought.

"Seward has planned everything carefully, he created the serum, found the candidate, by his choice he involved me in the investigation of my dear friend's death, tipped me to Van Helsing and his location, managed to smuggle the phonograph emulsion to my hand, named finding you as my next task, now we are united on the eve of Lucy's planned ascension to the throne of England, moves within moves on top of manoeuvres, he has planned everything to perfection, he had to have left us a way to find her."

His eyes fell upon his flatmate and friend.

"Watson do you feel a indefinable tug or urge to go in a certain direction?"

Watson glared at him. "What am I to be, your blood hound?"

Lestrade stared at their "hosts" warily. "Can we not use the word blood just now?"

Holmes smirked, and then continued, "It appears to me that there is some sort of fealty that happens with the turning process. Seward talked of Lucy wanting to take "possession" of you in some way, so it makes logical sense that there is some sort of chemical component to this venom that creates a bond in the progeny to their progenitor."

Van Helsing beamed at Holmes like a proud teacher to a student. "There is indeed evidence of such a bond, Sherlock, less chemical based than spiritual than you suppose, however I believe that Seward created a severance of such a bond by using the elder venom in the formula, his desire to give Doctor Watson the ability to break free of her will to strike the fatal blow he would have eliminated such a link."

Watson nodded his agreement. "I feel no such compulsion, Holmes, so snapping a lead to my collar will not be forthcoming I'm afraid."

Lestrade sniggered at the thought, but silenced his laugh when he received glares from the others. "I do have a suggestion," he interrupted.

Holmes waved him on impatiently with the old imperious air.

Lestrade ignored him as he took a step toward Mina, pausing when he saw the ominous warriors shift. "Where was your former suitor discovered? I seems to me that Jonathan Harker would not waste a death just to spread propaganda, he was a solicitor after all, they do not give out those degrees for showing up to class."

Van Helsing became animated. "Of course, you are right about Jonathan, he was an extremely practical man, to allow himself to be captured in such a bumbling manner does seem provincial."

Mina placed a finger to her lips as she cast her memory back through the intervening years. "He was found in Wapping, near Rotherhithe Bridge, face down, he had taken some sort of rare poison, curare according to my men who have smelled it before, death was instantaneous, but there were signs that his arm was broken by a strong grip, and a man wearing American style clothes with a very long knife was seen threatening him."

"Quincy," Van Helsing muttered to himself.

"Do you recall how his arms were positioned?" Holmes inquired his eyes glinting with excitement.

"The arm that was broken was extended towards the bridge itself. I remembered thinking that lifting that arm must have been painful," she paused, "dear sweet Jonathan, he was steady and reliable, and I still miss him so."

Watson and Holmes exchanged a look.

"The arm was positioned post-mortem," Watson confirmed, "There was no way that a man with the large bone of his arm broken would have been able to lift it above his head, not even with an extreme pain tolerance."

"She's hiding under the bridge in the tunnel they attempted to build, before they scrapped it in favour of a bridge I'll wager, we've tried to get them to fill it in for years because of the vagrants and criminals that hide down there," Lestrade added.

"We need a plan before we go in," Holmes mused.

"You have the support of my guard and I," Mina offered.

Watson tipped his hat to Holmes showing he was game.

Lestrade was chewing his bottom lip, then he met Holmes's eyes and nodded.

Van Helsing saw Holmes giving him the eye and glared at him for even thinking he would back down.

"Very well," Holmes stated, "I'll do some scouting tomorrow during midday when the sun is at its peak, I'm sure that Seward has a plan for when we arrive."

"That beast, Hyde will be involved I'm sure, I don't think he'll be very friendly with me," Watson remarked with a grin.

"Oh really, John, you bounced his stones off of the back of his tonsils, I'm sure you'll be right pals," Lestrade lamented.

Ignoring the bickering from long experience Holmes continued, "Hyde will have to be accounted for, he is massive and from his reactions a formidable foe, so we have an honour guard of twenty-five heavily armed well trained vampires, one vampire with immunity to holy objects and who will be immune to the present queen's influence, one rightful queen who has a more legitimate claim to the throne if we can get her an audience, one older man with vampire hunting experience, and Lestrade. I think we have a shot."

Mina nodded. "We must do this now, if she gets an audience with Queen Victoria she will be beyond our reach."

**~o0o0o0o~**

_There we were heading into the lair of the beast with a mysterious queen and her nightmare entourage at our backs._

_ To this day I question the logic of such an act, it does seem to be far beyond anything I would have attempted under normal circumstances._

_ Of course, normality had flown to parts unknown and it was a time for miracles, for Arthurian Quests. It was a time of heroes and foolhardy courage with no basis in sanity._

_ All I knew was that I had you and Lestrade at my side, two of the only men I have ever trusted._

_ Even if you were no longer a man, I trusted you then and I trust you still._


End file.
